MEMOIR AND WRITINGS 



OF 



MRS. HANNAH MAYNARD PICKARD;. 



REV. HUMPHREY PICKARD, A. M., 



PRINCIPAL OF THE WESLEYAN ACADEMY AT MOUNT ALLISON, 



BY EDWARD OTHEMAN, M. 



Farewell ! thy life hath left surviving love 

A wealth of records, and sweet ' feelings given,' 

From sorrow's heart the faintness to remove, 
By whispers breathing ' less of earth than heaven.' 

Thus rests thy spirit still on those with whom 

Thy step the path of joyous duty trod, 
Bidding them make an altar of thy tomb, 

Where chastened thought may offer praise to God ! " 



DAVID H. ELA, PRINTER. 



50LD BY E.THOMPSON, 6 NORFOLK PLACE, BOSTON; AND BY ALL 
WESLEYAN MINISTERS IN NOVA SCOTIA AND NEW BRUNSWICK. 



LATE WIFE OF 



SACKVILLE, N. B. 




BOSTON: 



1845. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1845, 

By E. OTHEMAN, 
n the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 



CONTENTS. 



Lntroduction . . . , . . . , Page 9 
CHAPTER I. 

Her parentage and birth. Removal to Concord, Mass. Early 
traits. Removal to Wilbraham, Mass. Character as a 
student. Revival of religion. Conversion. Baptism. Ex- 
tract of a letter from the Rev. Charles Adams . . ■- 13 

CHAPTER n. 

Removal to Boston. Love of the city. Social and Sensitive 
nature. Improvement in character. Connection with the 
Sabbath school. Her writings. Death of her sister, Susan. 
Becomes preceptress at Wilbraham. Letter to her parents. 
Local associations. First passage in her journal. Winter 
at home. Letter to her parents . . . . . . 23 



CHAPTER HI. 

Sketch of her character. Use of religious duties. Religion, 
the perfection of character. Grateful memorial. Acquaint- 
ance with Mr. Pickard. Letter to Mr. Pickard. Journal. 
Reflections. Letter to Mr. Pickard 38 

CHAPTER IV. 
Principal object of the memoir. New term, reflections. 
Trust in God. Benevolent association. Letter to Mr. 
Pickard. Her interest in personal holiness. Robert New- 
ton. Close of the term. Fair for Oregon. Belief in 
special Providence . . . . . . . .55 

1* 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER V. 

Advancement in holiness. Christian Perfection, reasonable 
and scriptural. New resolutions. Sense of responsibility. 
Increase of light. Evidence of acceptance. Rejoicing in 
God. Earnest desires. Longing for God. Her relation 
of the experience of perfect love. Continued consecration 67 



CHAPTER VI. 
Effects of her recent experience. Holiness, the glory of 
the Church. Religious influence. Interesting illustration. 
Grace produces humility. Severe temptations. Sensitive 
conscience. Contemplation of Heaven. Shrinking at the 
Cross. Close of the term ....... 87 



CHAPTER Vn. 

Last Winter at home. Thanksgiving. Desire to remain at 
home. Self-accusation. Interview with Professor Upham. 
Nearness to Christ, beautiful illustration. Letter to Mrs. 
Stebbins. Death of her Mother. Detail of circumstances 
to Mr. Pickard 101 

CHAPTER vm. 
Returns to Wilbraham, Effect upon her of her Mother's 
death. Her reflections on that event. Extracts of letters. 
Close of her connection with the Academy. Estimation in 
which her services were held. Her employment and ap- 
pearance at home. Her sentiments in view of her contem- 
plated marriage. Her marriage, and voyage to St. John . 118 



CHAPTER IX. 

Description of the city of St. John, and vicinity. Her voyage 
and reception. Private reflections. Grateful sentiments 
on " Thanksgiving-day." Sympathy for the poor. Attach- 
ment to old associations. Sketch of St. John. Tea Meet- 
ing, first in New England. Cause of her cordial welcome. 
Impressions relative to religious society. Her devotion to 
God and zeal to do good 136 



CONTENTS. 



vii 



CHAPTER X. 

Description of Fredericton. Mrs. Pickard's visit there. Ac- 
cident in returning. Danger from fire. The Indian basket 
maker. Anniversary of her mother's death. Wesleyan 
customs. Visit to Boston and Chelsea, Conjugal affection, 
Fidelity to duty. Nestorian missionary and bishop. Vari- 
ous extracts. Visit of Mr. Pickard. Reflections on his 
return. Birth of a son. Anniversary of her marriage. 
Return to St. John 162 



CHAPTER XL 

History of the Wesleyan Academy, Sackviile, N. B. De- 
scription of Sackviile. Mrs. Pickard's journey to Sackviile. 
Opening of the school. Baptism of her child. The nature 
of her connection with the Institution. Anxiety on account 
of her father's illness. Note to Miss C. Patten. Attach- 
ment to friends both in her native and adopted land. Short 
Tisit to Boston. Commencement of the Academy. Gene- 
ral esteem. Her aged class-leader. Letters , , . 192 

CHAPTER Xn. 

Regains the enjoyment of perfect love. Last letter. Birth 
of another boy. Death of the infant. Her anticipated 
recovery and visit. Her sudden death. Letters of Mr. 
Pickard, detailing the circumstances. Reflections on her 
death. Testimonials of affectionate respect . , . 226 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



SKETCHES. 

The Little Remembrancer . . - . . . . 253 

Are they not our brethren 255 

Supposed Dialogue between a little Heathen girl and 
the daughter of a Missionary , . . . . 258 

Farewell of the closing year ...... 261 

Beauty of Contentment ...... 263 

The Spider 266 



viii CONTENTS. 

The Savior's Visit to the Sisters of Bethany . . 269 

The Coronation . 272 

Thistle-Down . . . . . . . . 274 

The Messenger of Peace , . . . . . 276 

Home 278 

A Sketch 280 

Notes of Memory 284 

Watch Night . . 288 

The Strength of the Promises . . . . .290 

" Looking unto Jesus " . . . . . . . 293 

" To-day if ye will hear His voice, harden not your 
hearts" .295 

FRAGMENTS. 

Evening 301 

"Things seen are temporal " 302 

Man alone ungrateful ....... 304 

The pleasure-taker warned 305 

The storm-bird's flight 306 

The Bible .307 

Prayer . . . . . . . . . .308 

Redeem the time ........ 309 

The Future . . . 310 

Our Reward , . . . . . ... 311 



INTRODUCTION. 



The claims of the subject of the following Memoir to the 
regards of the reader, rest not only on the exhibition of 
cherished and auspiciously developed affections and friend- 
ships, but also on their combination with strong points of in- 
tellectual, moral and Christian character. 

To dwell upon social qualities, even of the purest and 
warmest nature, may, to some, savor of mere sentimentality. 
But I must confess that to me no character is lovely which 
does not exhibit the kind and friendly affections in native and 
growing strength. Amid the successes or disasters of peril- 
ous adventure and noble daring, the honorable pursuits of 
business and fame, the remarkable developments of genius 
and art, and the fascinations of beauty, the most essential 
element of a truly valuable character, is its twining social 
attachments and moral worth. 

Many, we have reason to fear, have been raised by the 
breath of popular favor to be the objects of really undeserved 
admiration. Their social life has been execrable ; their 



X 



INTRODUCTION. 



spoiled temper and vicious habits have given only pain and 
anxiety to relatives and intimate acquaintances ; and it has 
been a source of wonder at the divine economy, how they 
should have become exalted and enshrined in the devoted 
attachment of the world. 

The subject of these pages had a native character com- 
posed of the finest materials, which were but improved in 
delicacy by the touch of mental culture, and the influence of 
divine grace. And with all the genius which, in its opening 
brilliancy, gave delightful promise of future usefulness and 
fame, the sweetness of her disposition, and the purity and 
strength of her social virtues, constituted the peculiar charm 
of her society. Her love was cheering while yet she min- 
gled personally in the circles of earth ; and now that she is 
gone, we can but grieve that her bright presence no longer 
blesses these mortal abodes. But " what earth has lost, 
heaven has gained and if only the pure and good, such 
as she, inhabit that better land, well may we desire to depart 
to join their hallowed company. 

We shall witness in the recorded incidents of her course, 
and the delineation of her character, marked intellectual 
traits, a highly refined and cultivated taste, a decided moral 
purpose, an intelligent and Christian acquiescence in the 
arrangements of Providence, and signal success in the va- 
rious relations and appointments of her life. I must not an- 
ticipate the details of this volume, but I may be permitted 
to assure the reader that, though the subject of this work 
had . not won any distinguished honors in the public estima- 



INTRODUCTION. 



xi 



tion, he will find, in the perusal of these pages, enough to 
awaken his gratitude that so worthy an example of human 
excellence was vouchsafed to earth ; and enough to teach 
him that, nevertheless, a due appreciation and employment 
of the advantages of his situation, will secure to him all 
that is valuable in character, and useful in conduct, in the 
relations to which divine Providence may call him. 

Much in her correspondence that is characteristic and 
interesting to her personal friends, is unsuitable for the 
public eye. And I may add, that as none of it was design- 
ed for more than private reading, it may not possess all 
that variety of sentim.ent and richness of language which a 
mere literary taste may admire. Yet, in what will be pre- 
sented, the reader will find, I think, traces of a well-disci- 
plined mind, which has not been inattentive to the graces of 
style, even in her free and familiar intercourse with friends. 

It seems that she only now and then kept a private 
record of her mental exercises and personal experience. 
As there was no rigid formality in this practice, we find 
these occasional musings to be the outpouring of a burthened 
heart or of exuberant spirits. We love to get such glimpses 
of the inner life ; and when, as in this case, they furnish so 
delightful testimonials of real excellence, we wish that they 
had been multiplied a hundred fold. 

Having been requested by her excellent but deeply 
afflicted husband to collect and arrange her papers for pub- 
lication, together with some notices of her life, I shrank 
from the task, as becoming some worthier hand ; but still I 



XII 



INTRODUCTION. 



felt that friendship to the dead and to the Hving, would not 
permit a refusal of this request : and I have done what I 
could. The reader, I trust, will overlook the defects of my 
performance, if, at least, he can gain some tolerably distinct 
idea of the character of one whom it was good to know^ 
and whose " memory is fragrant J"^ 

M1LTON5 MasSo., July, 1845. 



NOTE. 

An erroneous statement is made near the foot of the 137th page, of sufiicient im- 
portance to require correction ; and I avail myself of this opportunity to give &■' 
word of explanation. It is there stated, that the Falls of St. John prevent the river 
navigation from reaching the wharves of the city. They do at low water ; and one 
who saw them at such a time, as I did, without knowing or remembering the great 
height which the tides reach, would not imagine that any craft, but a skimming 
boat perhaps, could ever pass them, even at high water. The fact is, however, 
that the tide rises usually thirty feet, and at high water vessels of any size may 
ascend and descend with ease and safety. This circumstance is, of course, signally 
advantageous to the country above, and to the city below.. E> O, 



MEMOIR. 



CHAPTER I. 

Her parentage and birth. Removal to Concord, Mass. Early 
traits. Removal to Wilbraham, Mass. Character as a student. 
Revival of religion. Conversion. Baptism. Extract of a letter 
from the Rev. Charles Adams. 

Mrs. Hannah Maynard Pickarb was the youngest 
daughter of Ebenezer and Hannah Thompson. She 
was born the 25th day of November, in the year ISIS, 
in a romantic mountain region of the town of Chester, 
Vermont. When she was about three years old, her 
family removed to the town of Concord, Massachusetts. 
Here she resided ten years. 

During these early years som.e traits of character, 
were exhibited which developed themselves in beauti- 
ful proportions in later life. She was then, as ever, 
remarkable for a cheerful and vivacious turn of mind. 
Her imagination was busy and bright, and her mem- 
2 



14 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



ory peculiarly retentive and ready. She excelled her 
young mates in the delectable art of telling stories, 
which she easily learned, and narrated with absorbing 
interest. Her faculty of observation was uncommon, 
and she seemed animated with an eager desire, and 
persevering purpose, to acquire all the knowledge 
within her reach ; and hence the inquiries which she 
proposed to every one with whom she conversed were 
frequent and sensible, as her remarks were intelli- 
gent and interesting. She was also very fond of 
reading, so that from books, observation, conversa- 
tion and reflection — the four great sources of knowl- 
edge — she acquired, as years passed on, somewhat 
extensive information of men and things, which was 
a fund of entertaining thought to herself in after time, 
and also of agreeable and useful intercourse with society. 

She possessed a naturally amiable temper, and as 
soon as she had knowledge of good and evil, seemed 
religiously inclined. Beside the ordinary saying of 
prayers, to which the children of Christians are gene- 
rally accustomed, she had, when a child, frequent sea- 
sons of prayer, and of reading the Bible by herself 
in her own room. She was favored with parents who 
taught her the fear of the Lord, and who were blessed 
in having their instructions followed by the influences 
of the Holy Spirit in the ultimate conversion of all 
their children. Three of their four children have died 
in the faith of Christ, and have now joined the glori- 
fied spirit of their mother in the paradise above. 
How blessed for a family so to live as to miss no one 
of their number in the bliss of heaven ! May the 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 15 

rest safely, though late, arrive in that '^continuing 
city," 

" Where immortal spirits reign." 

Though Hannah was thus prayerful and serious, and, 
about her eleventh year, as she afterwards thought, 
felt some of the joys of religion, she did not profess to 
have experienced a change of heart, and the forgive- 
ness of sins, until after her removal from Concord. 

In the year 1826 her parents were engaged to take 
charge of the boarding establishment connected wdth 
the Wesleyan Academy at Wilbraham, Mass. This 
was soon after the opening of the school, and Mr. 
Thompson abandoned a lucrative business, and an 
agreeable situation, for the purpose of contributing 
to the success of this enterprise among New England 
Methodists, and especially of placing his children 
under decidedly religious influences. At great per- 
sonal inconvenience he removed his family, and estab- 
lished them there, in the early spring of that year. 
It was at the time of their removal to Wilbraham that 
I first saw Hannah. I was on my way to the Acade- 
my. We had been travelling on the same route many 
miles, in different coaches, and I did not particularly 
observe her, till when, within about eight miles of our 
destination, we, and her two sisters were placed in 
the same coach together. She was only a child of 
thirteen ; but the lively interest which she showed in 
relation to the school, the good sense which she mani- 
fested in her inquiries and observations, the sweetness 
of her disposition, and the simplicity of her manners, 



16 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



impressed upon my mind a remembrance which was 
never efTaced, and which was blended with every idea 
of her which I subsequently formed. 

At Wilbraham she attended school at the Academy, 
and was considered a successful and proficient scholar. 
She was particularly pleased with the difficult and 
higher branches which, to youth of her age, are 
usually so annoying. The Latin, Greek and French 
languages were her delight, and she would pursue the 
study of them out of school hours as a recreation. 
Algebra and Geometry were pleasurable rather than 
irksome ; and it was in the solid branches of knowl- 
edge that she excelled during her relation to the 
school as pupil. The admirable taste and art which 
she afterwards exhibited in various ornamental accom- 
plishments, were much later acquisitions. By her pre- 
vious studies she formed a character of persevering 
industry, acquired a nice discrimination of the beauties 
of nature, art and literature, disciplined her faculties, 
and prepared the way for her future delicate and 
beautiful exhibitions of taste and genius. 

During the first revival of religion in the Academy, 
in which many of the students shared, her own religious 
feelings became deeply interested. This was the first 
season of general religious interest which herself and 
sisters had ever witnessed. They had been taught 
religion at home ; but in the town of Concord, where 
they had resided since their very early childhood, there 
was only occasionally evangelical preaching. The 
clergyman and church in the village were Unitarian. 
But though good morals were inculcated, they were 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



17 



such as could be performed without the renewal and 
sanctification of the heart, and were considered not 
inconsistent with balls, assemblies, and parties of pleas- 
ure. In these a deeper interest was manifested by the 
people generally than in the subject of personal, spirit- 
ual religion. Though the sisters might sometimes 
have felt an inclination to seriousness in conversation 
with their parents, they drank into the spirit of gaiety, 
and the love of fashion, which pervaded the people of 
the place. Hannah, being the youngest, was indeed 
less exposed to such influences than the others, but she . 
had not become a decided Christian. 

Mr. Thompson and his wife were now permitted to 
rejoice in finding their daughters brought under a 
religious influence, which awakened deeper feelings of 
regard for their own personal salvation, than they had 
ever before realized. It is true, these feelings of inter- 
est did not permanently affect them all from that time, 
though they may have given a direction to their views, 
which, together with other circumstances, led them 
ultimately to Christ. Hannah, however, ceased not to 
seek, until she obtained and manifested satisfactory 
evidence of pardon of sin, and peace with God. Her 
parents, convinced of the genuineness of her conver- 
sion, allowed her, though young, to unite with the 
Methodist Society, and to make a pubHc profession of 
religion. In the religious impression made upon the 
minds of their daughters, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson 
hoped to reahze the fulfilment of their highest wishes. 

How many parents, like them, have placed their chil- 
2# 



18 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



dren in that Seminary, with the same fervent desire 
and hope of seeing them attain a truly Christian char- 
acter. And the teachers and officers of the school 
were not wanting in endeavors to bring their young 
charge to Jesus, as well as to train them in useful 
knowledge and intellectual discipline. God has gra- 
ciously heard the prayers of parents aqd teachers, and 
signally blessed the Institution with frequent and pow- 
erful revivals. O that they might be still vouchsafed 1 
The time came when several of the young converts 
were to acknowledge Christ in the holy ordinance of 
baptism. Though Hannah's parents were Methodists, 
they had omitted what I conceive to be an important 
and interesting duty of Christian parents — the conse- 
cration of their infant children to God by baptism. It 
appears clear, that as infant children are in a state of 
absolute justification by the free gift which has come 
upon all men,* and are thus entitled to admission to 
heaven, dying in infancy, as well as to the blessings of 
God's kingdom here as far as they are capable of 
enjoying them,t it is the duty of Christian parents to 
recognize this great truth by the visible sign which 
Christ has appointed to shadow forth the justifying 
merit of his death. And it seems to me that the bap- 
tism of infants exhibits in a striking manner the great 
principle of justification by faith, in precisely the same 
way, and with the same significance, as circumcision 
did in the case of Abraham's posterity .J The sign 

* Rom. vi. 18. t Mark x. 14. 

t Rom. iv. 11—13. 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



19 



applied to infants implies that it is " not by works of 
righteousness which we have done, but by his mercy 
he saved us." Tit. iii. 5. It indicates that it is the 
blood of Christ which washes away sin, by faith and 
not by works, when faith can be exercised, and without 
faith or works either, when neither can be exercised. 

The rite was performed by Dr. Fisk, then Principal 
of the Academy. I remember the occasion well. It 
was on a pleasant Sabbath ; and was a deeply inter- 
esting season to the students generally, for several of 
their number were to publicly consecrate themselves to 
God in this holy ordinance. The place selected for 
the ceremony was a beautiful pond, a mile and a half 
from the village. The still air ruffled not the surface 
of the httle lake, and hushed the soul into quiet musing 
on the works and ways of God. The blessed sunlight 
of a summer Sabbath shed its glorious beauty over the 
face of nature; and the solemn services of the day 
prepared the spectators for a profitable contemplation 
of the scene. After suitable devotional exercises, the 
venerated and beloved servant of the Lord, in token of 
the washing away of sin, and as a living sacrifice to God, 
baptized her with water, in the name of the Father, 
and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Then rose 
the hymn of praise ; then ascended the earnest suppli- 
cation that the solemn covenant might never be 
forgotten ; then the apostolic benediction was pro- 
nounced ; and the multitude, who, with attending 
angels, had witnessed this delightful scene, dispersed, in 
silent meditation, or serious converse, to their homes. 



20 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



It was a novel and beautiful sight to behold one at her 
early age, publicly renouncing the amusements, the 
vanities and the friendship of the world, and devoting 
herself to her Saviour in a sacred and perpetual cove- 
nant. The vows she then made were ever afterward 
remembered ; and though seasons of spiritual darkness 
and declension occurred, she never resumed the offer- 
ing which she had made of herself to God. Though 
young, she withstood the. temptations by which others 
fell, and retained her connection with the society till 
her death. 

I take pleasure in introducing to the reader a letter 
received from the Rev. Charles Adams, now Principal 
of the Wilbrahan Academy, vv^hich contains some 
interesting reminiscences of our sister, a part of which 
I will here insert, as it is appropriate to this chapter of 
her earlier history. This tribute of memory is the 
more acceptable as it came unsolicited, and is the 
offering of an affectionate heart, which loves to treas- 
ure up the fond recollections of youthful days. 

WiLBRAHAM, Nov. 25, 1844. 
My dear Brother Otheman, 

Since the death of your excellent sister, Mrs. 
Hannah Thompson Pickard, I have often regretted 
that my opportunities for her acquaintance were neces- 
sarily so limited ; for I have, for several years, been 
accustomed to regard her as one of those rare and 
select beings whom a gracious Providence vouchsafes 
to earth, to gladden and adorn, for a few days, the 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



21 



circles of human society, and to remind mortals of that 
loveliness which, though too seldom seen on earth, yet 
blooms, in unfading beauty, in brighter worlds. 

I saw that dear young lady, for the first time, in the 
summer of 1827, w^hen you and I first met amid the 
hallowed scenes of Wilbrahara, where we, together 
with herself and others whose names I would love to 
mention, were wont to associate and sympathize in the 
studies connected w ith our education, under the guid- 
ance and smiles of the now sainted Fisk. Hannah 
might be then about thirteen years of age, and faithful 
memory brings vividly to my eye her position in that 
interesting circle. Her father and mother, as you 
know, w^ere at that time the kind and beloved guar- 
dians of the Students' Boarding Hall ; and Hannah, 
of course, while she was recognized as a student, was, 
at the same time, contemplated as being at home, and 
in her father's house. Hence, if more liberties were 
allowed to her than to other students that were differ- 
ently circumstanced, there was no jealousy. If, now 
and then, even in study hours," her buoyant step and 
sprightly laugh w^ere heard along the stairway, or as 
she tripped through the spaces, no student, as he bent 
over his lesson, thought of any disorder ; and had she, 
in one of her playful sallies, been encountered even 
by the serene and dignified Principal, I fancy he would 
but have smiled at her vivacity rather than have re- 
proved her for what, in any one else, had, perhaps, 
been deemed irregularity. 

Hannah was, as yet, a child — a child in stature and 
in years ; and yet she failed not to attract the notice 



22 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



of every one. Her beautiful simplicity, her uncommon 
sprightliness, her open yet modest smiles, her artless 
loveliness, all won for her the friendship and love of 
every student ; Vv^hile her more than ordinary intellec- 
tual qualities commanded the respect of those older, 
by several years, than herself. She was my companion 
in one of those mountain rambles in which, as you 
recollect, the young ladies and gentlemen of the Wes- 
leyan Academy were accustomed, now and then, to 
associate : and my opinion of her superiority and 
worth, which I then received, remained from that day 
to the present. In short, my impressions of Hannah 
at the period named, are, with tolerable accuracy, 
expressed in an extract from a poetic effusion, delivered, 
not many years since, to the " Young Ladies Literary " 
of the Wesleyan Academy, and in which herself and 
the ramble just alluded to were briefly noticed. 

" Of tender age was that sweet child ; 
And as she talked, and sung, and smiled, 
I seemed her dear — her elder brother, 
Son of her own beloved mother. 
Her form was fragile as the blade 
That waved beside the path we strayed ; 
I could, nor weary once nor faint, 
Have borne her up that mountain height 
Within the arm on which she leant, 
So slender was she, and so light, 
And yet within that fragile form, 
Fair Genius was already dawning, 
Pure as the rays that circle warm 
The glowing brow of radiant morning." 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



23 



CHAPTER II. 

Removal to Boston. Love of the City. Social and Sensitive 
Nature. Improvement in character. Connection with the 
Sabbath School. Her Writings. Death of her sister, Susan. 
Becomes Preceptress at Wilbraham. Letter to her Parents. 
Local Associations. First passage in her Journal. Winter at 
home. Letter to her Parents. 

In the year 1828, her family removed to Boston, 
where she chiefly resided till her marriage. She spent 
a year at the Academy after her parents left, and then 
lived at home, w^ith the exception of the seasons w^hich 
she passed at Wilbraham as Preceptress. In Boston 
she was favored with peculiar advantages for the acqui- 
sition of knowledge, and especially for the cultivation 
of her taste and genius in the ornamental arts. She 
was very fond of natural, especially of rural scenery ; 
but she dearly loved the city for its privileges and 
associations. She highly enjoyed its literary and reli- 
gious advantages, and formed here many valued and 
beloved acquaintances. She delighted to consider 
Boston as her home. Its cleanliness, its general mor- 
aUty, its numerous churches, its intelligent population, 
its hterary fame, its benevolent institutions, the public 
spirit of its citizens, its storied recollections of puritanic 



24 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



piety, and patriotic devotion, its safe and quiet homes, * 
all enshrined in it the ardent attachment of her heart. ' 

It was during her residence at home after her return ■ 
from the Academy, that her filial and social qualities ' 
were more fully developed. It was then, amid the 
endearments and the vicissitudes of the domestic circle, 
that she acquired such a heart-engrossing attachment 
to homey as rendered succeeding separations deeply \ 
afflictive and distressing. She suffered, however, some- 
times, while surrounded by those dear to her heart, i 
from that exceeding sensitiveness which will, now and \ 
then, question the continued love of even devoted ' 
friends. Such a nature never forgets, when it has once ' 
loved, and dreads to be forgotten. But in those who ' 
knew her she failed not to inspire a fond attachment, 
and a high esteem of her intellectual and moral worth ' 
which secured that attachment. The exquisite delight ' 
which a sensitive nature frequently realizes in the exer- ' 
cise and assurance of friendship, is, on the whole, 
far preferable to that free and joyous confidence which ^ 
an easy disposition feels in the undoubted stability of ^ 
supposed admirer?. The steady love of years, which ' 
she experienced from her own relatives and long tried ' 
friends, was sufficient, however, to dispel all fear and 
doubt, and afforded her in later life a very large share 
of pure enjoyment. The following brief note, written ^ 
to her cousin. Miss Joanna Maynard, whom she ten- | 
derly loved, and with whom she spent many agreeable [ 
hours, reveals something of her taste and sentiment at 
this time of her life. It speaks of an interview which 
they had one evening. 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



25 



" Joanna, we have been sitting this evening, watch- 
ing the calm moonhght, as it fell softly, silently around 
us; we enjoyed its balmy air, and its soothing quiet 
together :— its hours have fled, and we can never sit 
again, as we then sat, overshadowed by the same clouds, 
and with the same light about us. Other moons have 
passed above us, other evenings, as much beloved, have 
glided by us, and are forgotten; and thus 'twill be 
of this — its transient interest, and of me. This even- 
ing is but an epitome of our lives — changing, changing 
and still changing. That little white cloud, how many 
forms it has already worn ; those shadows of our 
chestnut trees,* they are lengthening, varying as the 
moon retires; and soon these lovely pageants will be 
lost in the coming darkness. Is it not thus of those 
who, for a short time, mingle in our path, and whom 
we remember (if at all) but as the early evening shad- 
ows ? Must it be thus of me 1 No, I have loved you 
too much ! Let me not be remembered by you as the 
delicate shade, the beautiful cloud, or the waning 
moon ; but as the steady star, which shines on in cloud 
j and storm, although appearing to change its place, yet * 
I still looking upon you from the same orbit." 

i During these years she acquired many excellent 
habits and qualifications, which fitted her for the respon- 
sible station which she was soon to occupy. She was 
not remarkable, at this time, for religious character. 
Indeed, though she forgot not her covenant with God, 
maintained an upright life, and, as opportunity pre- 

* The Horse Chestnut is a favorite shade tree in Boston. 

3 



26 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



sented, (it did but seldom,) was found in the class and 
prayer meeting, as well as at public worship, yet her 
mind seemed to be occupied with numerous concerns, 
and she allowed herself too little ^attention to the cul- 
tivation of inward holiness. This she exceedingly 
regretted afterwards ; and, especially, lest her deport- 
ment might have exerted an injurious influence on her 
associates. The latter years of her residence in |j 
Boston, however, were years of spiritual growth, of 
Christian labor, as well as of intellectual improvement. | 
This increased religious interest was stimulated, doubt- 1 
less, by an event, to be narrated, which was calculated 
to revive and impress upon her mind all the obligations 
of religion, and all the solemn associations connected 
with her relation to another world. 

She obtained, also, while residing at home, a sense 
and power of self-dependence, most important in dis- 
charging the duties of life. The perseverance with 
which she applied herself to the cultivation of her 
taste and talent in various branches of art and knowl- 
edge, was an excellent discipline for her mind, and 
requisite for ultimate perfection. I am well persuaded 
that for her success and reputation in future situations 
she was indebted not more to her native gifts, than to 
an untiring and determined habit of physical endurance 
and mental application. Difficulties and labors, which 
would have deterred many a delicate lady at her age, 
(and she was never robust herself,) were courageously 
encountered in the acquisition of valuable attainments, 
as though she were excited by the distinct assurance 



! 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



27 



of some dazzling advantage to be won by assiduous 
toil. 

She was for some time connected, as teacher, with 
the Bromfield Street Sabbath School, and afterwards 
with the Blossom, now Russell Street Sabbath School. 
She manifested in these schools a strong interest for 
the welfare of her scholars. They, in turn, became 
fondly attached to her, and remembered her with pecu- 
liar tenderness when she was no longer able to be 
present with them. For their encouragement, as well 
as to contribute to the general interest of the school, 
she wrote several beautiful articles to be recited in the 
school and at exhibitions. Some of these articles will 
be readily recalled to mind by many readers of this 
volume, as they have been extensively used on similar 
occasions in other places. 

The practice of writing for the children gave exercise 
and improvement to her pen. Though she never 
seemed animated with an ambition for literary fame, 
she furnished occasional contributions for several peri- 
odicals. Many of these productions are admirable 
specimens of fine writing. There is, in all her writings, 
a richness, yet chasteness of thought and expression, 
which marks her mind as exquisitely delicate in its 
perceptions and tastes. Her style is, in general, ornate, 
but adorned with true poetic thoughts and images, so 
as to entitle it to be called the Poetry of Prose. Several 
of these articles are deemed worthy of preservation in 
connection with her Memoir, and will be found in the 
latter part of this book. While in Boston, she collected 
the materials of several deeply interesting narratives. 



28 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



some of which were afterwards published in a couple 
of small volumes.* 

In the month of March, 1834, a scene occurred of 
thrilling interest to her, which made an indelible im- 
pression upon her susceptible heart. When she was i 
but eight or nine years old, she was deeply affected by ; 
the death of her only brother— a very estimable and i 
promising lad of fifteen. For some years, however, 
the family circle had been unbroken ; and she went on 
unconscious of the change that awaited them, happy | 
in her associations, and gathering strength to her affec- |i 
tions from every day's connection with the remaining i; 
number. But her affectionate sympathies were now 
subjected to a most painful trial — a dearly loved sister, 
the one nearest her own age, bid, at this time, a last 
farewell to the hopes and joys of earth, and sought her 
home in fairer worlds above. Susan was a woman of 
unusual sprightliness and cheerfulness of mind, and 
of more than ordinary personal loveliness, and recip- 
rocated the ardent attachment of her sister. She had 
been married about three years, and was now the 
mother of a lovely infant boy. During her sickness 
she had sought and found the Savior, and, though 
her bodily sufferings were most excruciating, she 
endured them, and died at last, in great ecstacy and 
triumph. It was heart-rending to hear her groans of 
bodily agony, and yet soul-inspiring to" witness the 
heaven of joy that beamed in her beautiful eye, and 
irradiated her dying countenance. Hannah's heart 

* Procrastination, and The Widow's Jewels. 



9 



! 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



29 



was wrung with anguish at the sufferings of her sister, 
and was profoundly sensible of her own loss when that 
sister ceased to mingle in the company of earth. She 
ever after realized a lonely place in her heart, and felt 
that earth was saddened as the scene of so much suf- 
fering and so painful separations. There are affecting 
references to this event in passages of her journal, 
written upon returning to Wilbraham, and also in a 
piece entitled " Notes of Memory," which the reader 
will find among her Select Writings. This event, 
though the bonds of human attachment and earthly 
association were riven, served to stimulate her attention 
to the important interests of eternity, and led to in- 
creased devotion to her God and Savior. 

In the year 1838, Miss Thompson was invited to 
become Preceptress in the Wilbraham Academy. Her 
native diffidence led her to shrink from the observation 
and responsibility to which this situation would subject 
her. It was only after much persuasion from her 
friends who knew her best, and who had full confidence 
in her ability to fill the place, that she at length con- 
sented, and then reluctantly, to accept the invitation. 
She entered in fear and much trembling," upon the 
important and laborious service ; but her success was 
most signal and gratifying, and far greater than her 
modesty led her at any time to hope. The undertaking 
was no light affair for one of her delicate bodily organ- 
ization, and so unaccustomed, as she was, to the daily 
management of children or youth. The charge of, at 
times, over a hundred young ladies of all moods and 
manners, required a versatile and vigorous mind, and, in 
3* 



30 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



order to successful discipline and instruction, a large 
share of intellectual attainments and moral worth. Of 
all this she showed herself possessed. And her genius 
and taste in the branches of instruction to which she was 
devoted, her happy faculty of winning, almost uncon- 
sciously too, the esteem and attachment of her pupils, 
the excellent moral and religious influence which she 
exerted over them, and her success in securing the 
respect and confidence of her fellow-instructers, ren- 
dered her connection with the Academy creditable to 
herself, honorable and profitable to the Institution, and 
highly beneficial to the worldly and spiritual interests 
of the young ladies in her department. Out of school, 
she took a lively interest in all the literary and social 
interviews and exercises by which the minds and char- 
acters of her pupils might be improved. She also 
zealously engaged in the benevolent operations of the 
day, and devised agreeable plans among the scholars 
for the increase of their funds. She early took a 
class in the Sabbath School, and, during a large part 
of her time, taught, on the Sabbath, a numerous 
Bible Class, which was made delightfully agreeable and 
useful. She became a diligent attendant upon all those 
social as well as public devotional exercises, by which 
the Methodist Church endeavors to advance its mem- 
bers " in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and 
Savior Jesus Christ." 

The following extract from a letter to her parents, 
written in an unreserved and playful humor, will give 
the reader some idea of her views of herself and cir- 
cumstances shortly after commencing her duties in the 
Academy. 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



31 



WiLBRAHAM, Sept. 22(3, 1838. 

My very dear Parents, 

I know well that news from me can never come 
too often to be welcome. Writing to you is next in 
pleasure to receiving a letter from you, and the latter, 
I hope you will remember, makes some of the very 
brightest moments in all my course while here. Every 
day but proves more and more that life would be but 
little worth to me, when unshared by any of you. I 
am one of the quiet ones who prefer doing well, and 
am willing any body else should do better if they 
please. Perhaps if I had thought so three weeks since, 
I might have done more wisely ; however,- there are but 
about nine weeks more, and long as they may seem, an 
end will come. 

From my last letter, you supposed that I had not 
the greatest satisfaction in the performance of my 
duties. I am convinced that I am quite out of my 
element ; to teach ^ young ideas how to shoot," would 
be to me an easier task than directing the aim of older 
ones. We have about ninety-seven young ladies con- 
nected, with the school, very few young, but from the 
age of fifteen to thirty ; and I need not assure you, it 
is a task I would never envy any one, to walk in and 
take a seat in the centre of so many eyes, all fixed upon 
me. I have no real trouble yet, but am expecting 
something, something, every day. You must not 
think me dreadfully gloomy and ungrateful. I hope I 
shall be able to do my duty ; at the same time I find 
a very strong inclination to say what that duty is ; and 



32 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



while I think I wish to be led, am constantly choosing 
to lead. Indeed I hope I shall never see it my duty 
to stay away from our pleasant home, while we can get 
along so pleasantly and profitably together. You said 
you thought it was all for the best ; I do not see why 
it was for the best. But true it is, I have gone, so far, 
much better than I expected, notwithstanding I feel it 
so irksome. And when I look back, I cannot help 
wondering how I was induced to accept what appeared 
to me so difficult. I can only say it was so, and I 
have been assisted much more than I deserve. You 
must not be anxious about me. Every one seems very 
kind, the young ladies respectful as I could wish ; 
almost every day I have a nice apple or peach, " if 
Miss Thompson will accept." Mr. Patten is very kind. 
I know not what I should do without him, or with any 
one else ; he is one of the very best ; does all in his 
power to make me happy. I attend to my duties now, 
but constantly with another object in view, which seems 
to me greater than all the rest, that of returning to 
you. One term will be glory enough for me. 

You must take much love ; be sure, I never knew 
I loved you so much before. I suppose there is no 
need to add my name. H. 

We have had occasion to observe that our sister 
loved the city : but she was also an ardent admirer of 
the works of God. The scenery and associations 
that surrounded her in Wilbraham, were eminently 
calculated to cherish her love of nature, and the gentle 
feelings of her heart. Not only was there much in 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



33 



the varied landscape to excite her admiration, and 
much in her connection with the school to call into 
exercise benevolent and generous emotions, but Wil- 
braham was to her a place of endeared recollections 
and of hallowed associations. Here she had spent 
several of the fresh and buoyant years of childhood, 
when busy fancy invests every object with peculiar 
charms ; here she had acquired a great relish for lite- 
rary attainments ; and here, especially, she had given 
her heart to Christ and to his church in early and 
happy consecration. True, she had occasion to sigh 
over sad scenes witnessed far away, and the recollec- 
tion would tinge with melancholy some of the visions 
of the past, and temper some of the high-wrought 
emotions which present objects were calculated to 
produce. But is there not a softer hue given to char- 
acter by these chastenings of the spirit ? Does not a 
milder, richer radiance invest the soul of friendship 
and piety, as it reflects on the departing glory of those 
who die in the Lord ? 

The following reflections, which are contained in a 
small note book, connect interesting notices of her 
departed sister with familiar points of local scenery 
that have been endeared to many a youthful heart. 
They seem to be the first of those occasional mus- 
ings which partake of a character higher or different 
from that of a journal, but which, for convenience 
sake, we shall designate by that name. 

" WiLBRAHAM, Sabbath night, Sept. 16, 1838. Here 
once more, after the intervention of many eventful 



S4 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



years ! Eventful ? Ay. Those mountains bold still 
stand upon their firm foundations, deep in the sunless * 
caverns of the earth ; sublime but insensate ; seeming 
eternal, yet without a spark of that celestial essence 
which alone endues with immortality. The rocks re- 
main the same ; and trees the same, but, with increas- ' 
ing size, have worn and changed, and worn and - 
changed their coronal of leaves. The little brooks 
appear the same, in just such murmuring haste. Then [ 
why eventful ? If none of these can tell the story, i 
then ask it of the heart. O ! 'tis there change keeps 
its own unfading record. Ask, and o'er its faithful 
tablet gently come the lineaments of one most loved, | 
now sleeping in the tomb; of one whose presence in | 
fond association mingles with every point of this rich [ 
landscape. Once, alive to its attractions, we together i 
loved its scenes ; together sought the wild flower 
nursed upon this soil, or from the bent bush together 
pulled the clustering berries. O Susan ! like a presid- 
ing genius of the place seems thy pure spirit now to 
me. Like an angel guest, thou seemest present when 
I am else alone, although the mortal vision and the 
heavy ear are not sensible of thy approach, for in 
loneliness with silence, thou dost condescend to be 
my kind companion. 

" What is her employment this sacred evening ? 
Somewhere she is now, with pleased obedience, wait- 
ing the will of God ; perhaps adding her voice to that 
of the innumerable company in holiest adoration round 
the throne ; perhaps beside the pillow of some dying 
saint, whispering in the weary ear those tones of hope 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



35 



and faith which once, in that dark hour, were joy to 
her ; perhaps she comes to watch our steps, to inspire 
those high resolves of faithfulness which sometimes 
come within our hearts, pure as if shed by some bless- 
ed spirit's influence. But we shall meet again. Will 
that moment find me, hke herself, arrayed in light ? 
Sisters once on earth, again more nearly united by 
holiest affection, shall we be angel sisters there, enjoy- 
ing the smiles of our heavenly Father in that brighter, 
happier, unchanging home for ever?" 

The winter following this term was spent by our 
sister in the beloved circle of her friends at home. 
During this time, she recreated herself amid the re- 
freshing joys of friendship, and the familiar scenes 
and interesting privileges of our goodly metropolis, 
and endeavored to improve, by practice, in the several 
branches of instruction in her department at Wilbra- 
ham, preparatory to her re-employment in the spring. 
Two or three elements of her mental constitution 
combined to render her sometimes unhappy in her 
connection with the school — extreme sensitiveness 
and self-distrust, and a remarkably adhesive attachment 
to home and friends. The influence of conflicting cir- 
cumstances, however, and especially the controlling 
power of moral and religious sentiments, counteracted, 
to a great extent, any injurious effect upon her char- 
acter, arising from these constitutional tendencies. It 
is important to remember these particulars in estimat- 
ing the bearing of certain expressions that may be 
found in her correspondence and other writings. The 



36 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



following portion of a letter to her parents, written I 

during the Spring Term of 1839, will be better un- \ 

derstood by such a reference. The letter is quite \ 

characteristic, and is inserted chiefly on that account. P 

Wesleyan Academy, April 30, 1839. 
Dear Parents : — i 

The smallest incident in your every day course, I 
which I should scarcely notice at home, now be- 
comes clothed with no ordinary interest; and the 
thought which brightens my most weary and gloomy 
moments, is about what you have last written, may 
next write, or what I shall write to you. Per- 
haps, then, you will wonder why I have not written 
before, for, indeed, a long time has passed; but — I 
have not been all the time in the best spirits, and 
thought it better to wait until my letters should not 
be " doleful," as Emma intimates with regard to my 
first, which, by the way, / thought an uncommon 
specimen of good cheer for me, and cost me quite an 
effort. But as the time for which I have been waiting 
has not yet dawned upon me, and I fear may be far i, 
distant, I will seat myself again at my desk, to give \i 
you another solo on the black keys," as pianists 1 
say. i 

I received father's letter by this evening's mail, ac- \ 
companied by one from Joanna. I was glad enough i 
of them both, you may be sure. One of the young 
ladies had just come in to make a call when they ar- ' 
rived. I sat with the greatest uneasiness, so hurried 
was I to read them. She favored me with her society 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



37 



about half an hour. Just as she was leaving, another 
called, and another. There lay my letters, both open, 
from neither of which had I got a taste ; nor did I 
finally shut the door, and sit down to enjoy them, for 
nearly two hours. I am glad you are all doing so 
well at home ; in about ninety days I hope to be there 
again; — to think that I have been here only 
, weeks ! Time is an old man, and needs rest ; he must 
have sat down to sleep somewhere. What a delight- 
ful walk you must have had, father, out to N., admir- 
ing the face of the earth, sonnetting to the trees and 
birds in such fine style. When I look upon the trees 
and buds here, it is but to remind me how pleasant the 
horse-chestnuts are beginning to look in our good city. 

I suppose you wish to hear something from the 
school. All moves on about the same, so far as rules 
are concerned. There are some more than one hun- 
dred young ladies here this term, and more in this 
house than have ever been before, and none of the 
steadiest heads either, requiring not a little skill to 
keep them in order. Mr. P. does all he possibly can 
to relieve me from too much care ; still I cannot lay it 
aside altogether or in part, with such a freakish set. 
I They are quite agreeable and respectful toward me, so 
! far as I perceive, with the exception of one develop- 

j ment of self-esteem from , about my age, but 

i very unwilling to render aught to Csesar of his due. 
However, I have got out of every difficulty I have met 
with as yet. It is eleven o'clock; good night. 

Yours most aflfectionately, Hannah. 



4 



38 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



CHAPTER III. 

I 

Sketch of her Character. Use of Religious duties. Religion, the 
Perfection of Character. Grateful Memorial. Acquaintance !i 
with Mr. Pickard. Letter to Mr. Pickard. Journal. Reflec- f 
tions. Letter to Mr. Pickard. [i 

. \ 

Our sister had now been one year connected with « 
the Academy as Preceptress ; and having spent a short 
Summer vacation at home, had returned to fulfil her 
appointed labors with increased efficiency and success. ^ 
As she became more familiar and interested in her 
duties, the rare and estimable qualities of her mind 
and heart were more fully developed ; and she only i 
showed increasing power of execution with increasing \ 
demands upon her talents. { 

It is, indeed, delightful to contemplate her character 
at this time of her life — which was only the more 
rapidly matured in her subsequent history — her native ^ 
simplicity, her refined taste and sentiment, her poetry 
of thought and feeling, her exquisite sense of the deli- ) 
cate and beautiful in nature and art. Emotion was ■ 
a striking characteristic of her mental constitution, and 
consequently developed itself in her social intercourse, 
and in the productions of her pen. It played over 
her countenance as the sunshine and the shade over 
the face of nature. And, as her heart was the seat of 3 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



39 



much native good humor, the sunshine of a ready 
smile was the prevaiUng expression on her features. 
This became more constant in after years, when the 
increasing glow of divine love increased the joy of her 
heart, and the benignity of her mien. Amiabihty — 
not a passive amiability, such as there is but little 
credit or virtue in exhibiting because other strong 
traits are wanting — but an amiability which, while it 
was natural, was also cultivated as a necessary grace 
and accomplishment, was a crowning beauty of her 
social and moral character. But however much there 
was to admire in the excellence of her disposition, the 
sprightliness of her wit, the richness of her imagination, 
the sincerity and ardor of her social affections, the sen- 
sibility of her heart, the refinement of her taste and 
manners, the beauty of her productions in hterature and 
the ornamental arts, still there was much more to admire 
in the depth, the purity, the spirituahty of her religious 
life. 

For a few years past her religious feelings had be- 
come much improved. This improvement w^as partly, 
perhaps greatly, owing to her employment in duties 
which required the exercise of strong religious princi- 
ple and affections. This was the case in her previous 
connection with the Sabbath School, but mor€ particu- 
larly, in her daily intercourse with the young ladies of 
the Academy. Scarcely any thing serves more effec- 
tually to arouse religious interest, than the actual 
■discharge of religious duties. Could the careless, 
backslidden professor be induced to engage in those 
exercises which may be called the socialities of religion, 



40 



MEMOIR OF MRS* 



his sense of moral obligation and his religious feelings 
would be greatly quickened and revived. To converse 
with our friends and neighbors on the subject of per- 
sonal piety, to attempt the relief of suffering, to leach 
children and youth the truths of religion, to be placed 
in situations where we realize that our influence is 
exceedingly important on the moral interests of others, 
serves to produce this result. Hence many a young , 
person, who has engaged in teaching in a Sabbath \ 
School class, without the personal enjoyment of religion, 
has soon begun to realize the need of it, and been led ^ 
to embrace it. And it is this principle which, among 
other things, shows the adaptation of the various social 
relations to promote the cause of true religion. ^ 
On the other hand, it is delightful to witness what a 1 
lustre religion can shed on the brightest genius, on the 
most exalted station ; 'how adapted it is to develope 
the human faculties and feelings ; and how well it 
qualifies men for the various situations and relations in 
which Providence places them. I do not mean that 
it should be relied on to the exclusion of other influ- 
ences, and other qualifications, but that it powerfully 
aids in acquiring others, and is an indispensable requi- 
site to the completion of the means of usefulness. 
How agreeable to the eye are the various and beautiful 
forms of vegetable life; how delightedly do we con- 
template the sweet prospects of "mountain, glade and 
glen," the charming varieties of land and water scen- 
ery ; but where were all this beauty without the light 
of heaven ? What, indeed, were all these charms 
without the glorious Summer-sunlight which adds aa 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



41 



indescribable loveliness to all the objects of nature and 
of art ? 

" Sunbeam of summer, O ! what is like thee ? 
Hope of the wilderness, joy of the sea ! 
One thing is like thee, to mortals given, — 
The faith, touching all things with hues of Heaven." 

And who can behold the endless variety, the gran- 
deur and immensity of the works of God, without 
realizing that the crowning glory is, that a Supreme 
Intelligence made, and sustains, and governs all ? His 
presence of benignity and love pervades all being. He 

^' Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, 
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, 
Lives through all life, extends through all extent, 
Spreads undivided, operates unspent." 

So with the human character. Though there may be 
many estimable and admirable qualities in an individual, 
yet if the influence of a divine and heavenly reHgion 
be wanting, a painful deficiency is realized — a lack of 
that perfection which renders him most useful to his 
fellow-men, and which alone can abide the scrutiny of 
angels and of God. 

The following precious memorial of gratitude to 
God, I find inscribed by our sister in the detached kind 
of journal already mentioned, a few days after her 
return to Wilbraham for the Fall Term, 

" Saturday, Aug. 31, 1839. — This is the last day 
of Summer — the last day of the most blessed month 
4# 



42 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



of my life. When Spring first came, I ventured to 

cast a look towards the scenes which advancing Sum- i;| 
mer might have in store for me ; dim, confused, and 
uncertain, indeed, were the delineations which my 
fancy pictured then ; like the variable March, cloudy^ 

stormy and sunny by turns, seemed the future urtto [ 

me. I saw some budding hopes put forth, which I i 
prayed m^^^^ live ; and some which seemed so fair 

and frail, I felt assured that they would die. Into His j 

hands I commended them, who gives His storms a [, 

charge concerning Summer's frailest flower, nor lets if 

the falling rain, or heavy dew-drop mar its angel-tinted \ 

beauty. h 

''And now the months are passed. I stand upon k 

iheir farthest verge, while the shadows of coming j 

Autumn lie even at my feet, and look again toward | 

His throne with heartfelt praise and song of gratitude, ii 

I love Him, for as I pass along the dangerous path of j 

life, He gently guides me on. I love Him, for all along ji 

its course He calls around the fresh and fair, the bright Ii 

and beautiful. He bids the young buds blossom into s 

open joys, and revives the drooping ; and if some are i 

early blasted from which I once had hoped to gather I 

sweets, I know it is because the odor of their matured 1 
bloom would have fallen on my soul in dampness, blight, 
perhaps — in death. I love Him, because not only may 

I pluck from what is born of earth, joys doomed to ^ 
change and fade ; not only taste the pleasures which 
sparkle here ; but He gladdens my heart with visions 

of ever-during bliss above, where are the fountains of i 

living water to which He will lead our feet ; where He i 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



43 



sheds abroad His own glorious Spirit, and reveals 
Himself to the adoring society which His compassion 
once redeemed, which His unslumbering watchfulness 
has guided to His presence, which love, pure, omnipo- 
tent, everlasting love, now crowns with joy such as the 
purest, holiest, highest thought from earth can never 
echo back." 

In Wilbraham, Miss Thompson first saw, and com- 
menced acquaintance with Mr. Pickard, her future 
husband. This was in the spring of 1839. He was 
then a student at the Wesleyan University, in Middle- 
town, Conn., and was on a visit, during vacation, to 
the Wilbraham Academy, where he prepared for Col- 
lege. Mr. Pickard graduated in the Summer of that 
year, and, on his return to his native province, com- 
menced an epistolary correspondence, which, on her 
part is marked by all the beautiful and affectionate sim- 
plicity characteristic of her mind and manners. A large 
portion of these letters is well adapted for public perusal, 
as expressing sentiments of no mere " private interpreta- 
tion." The following alludes to his voyage to New- 
Brunswick from Boston, where he had been detained 
by stress of weather. 

Wesleyan Academy, Sept. 7, 1839. 

My dear Friend, 

Your interesting letter of the 26th ult. I received 
night before last ; it was sooner than hope had prom- 
ised, yet pleasant tidings are not the less acceptable 



44 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



for coming unexpectedly. Gladly do I now withdraw 
myself, for a short time, from the many cares by which 
I am surrounded, to attempt an early, and something 
like a worthy reply ; yet were it not that I may submit 
it to your kind forbearance, I might be almost discour- 
aged from presenting to you a communication so 
unenlivened by interesting incident. The panorama 
of life in our quiet village offers little change for , 
" lookers on," ergo you will pardon the obtrusion of 
the convenient and important ego. l 

I was glad that you could discover so many circum- 
stances to contribute to your enjoyment in those days 
which must have passed so wearily, and almost as if 
detaining you from the sweet scenes of home, Sta- i 
tionary as my star has ever been, I scarcely knew what 
to imagine of your course, or when to think it ended ; 
and could only, by way of association, while remaining 
in that haven of east winds, glance idly but involun- 
tarily towards the clouds, studying their changes, in i, 
which practice I had of late acquired some skill. But 
that was not all. In the evening, leaning against my i 
window, forgetful of the busy preparations of the day, 
forgetful of all circumstances immediately about me, I 
looked upward to the calm, pure sky, and was thankful 
that such glory rested not alone upon the city, nor upon 
the land, but also on the sea. Then, while enjoying , 
those rapt, undefinable emotions which such an hour, 
and such a light, ever inspire, my thoughts stole away 
without message or direction, in quest of a voyager 
upon its pathless depths ; and when they at last re- 
turned it was with a report more vague, perhaps, than 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



45 



watchers love, yet sad and sacred. They spoke of 
one " honieward-bound," and said that Fancy had 
borne him Onward in joy to the friends who aw^aited 
his coming ; that when he found not some, Avhose pres- 
ence had so endeared those early scenes, his thoughts 
went up to that better home, and mingled with those 
who had gone to its unbroken rest ; then, they said 
that his mind turned trembling to the high and holy 
duties to which he had devoted himself: then, listen- 
ing attentively, I heard them whisper that some thoughts 
lingered around the shore he was leaving, and that 
none of his friends were quite forgotten ; then they 
reminded me of the long time which must elapse ere 
that voyager might return ; officiously summoned up 
shadows which might darken the future, and — I has- 
tily dismissed them. 

In reading your letter I pause upon the words, I 
am almost ready to say, New-England shall be my 
home." A wish awakens in my heart, which I dare 
hardly acknowledge to myself ; yet I know that varia- 
tions from the course which Providence reveals as duty, 
not only deserve to fail of securing the good proposed, 
but ever do deprive us of His favor which is life, and 
1 His loving kindness which, is better than life. Sweet 
I as are all the enjoyments of earth, and delightful as 
' would be to me the anticipations I might then indulge, 
yet if such be not His will who maketh all things 
work together for our good, my heart, I trust, is ready 
to relinquish the thought, having confidence in Him in 
all things, grateful if (to use your words) I may trace 
the Answer of Providence " in the cherished remem- 

I 



46 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



brances of the past, then sacredly commit to His care 
every event of the future, and — "be happy." 

Another of those sweet emanations from her heart, 
already mentioned as composing her journal, is found 
in the small album from which the first was taken. Its 
beauty of expression is only equalled by the purity of 
her sentiment, and the depth of her devotion. It 
closes too abruptly, as though the thought, which so 
frequently recurred amid the early associations of Wil- 
braham, had absorbed her meditations, and arrested 
her pen. 

" WiLBRAHAM, Sabbath Night, Sept. 15, 1839. — 
Another ' eventful year' has passed away! I turn a 
single page to make an entry of its flight upon this 
little Souvenir. So large a portion of my life's short 
pilgrimage has been so soon measured ! How soon, 
indeed, it seems ; yet were I to number mercies as I 
number hours or moments, how vast would be the 
sum ! I look around me and within — thought is lost 
amid the dazzling multitude of priceless blessings. 
Through all the days of this swift year, beams of the 
^all-beholding sun' have blest my way; but richer 
gifts from the upper sky have been more freely given. 
The deep forests are again clothed with myriads of 
leaves, but the gifts of God are more countless ! — the 
bounties of his Providence daily bestowed ; the bless- 
ings of love, hope, memory ; and richer, holier far 
than all, the blessings of his grace — pardon of sin, 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



47 



faith in Christ, and promises of everlasting life. O, 
more than an angel's portion, all the brightest treasures 
of that eternal world are offered to frail, erring human 
j! nature ! 

" O my soul, what dost thou here ? no emotion, no 
^ love, no gratitude ! I seem to hear the voice of her 
|: who has now numbered another year amid that happy 
I band above. While I have been slumbering upon 
earth, she has been learning a ^ new song ; ' been 
advancing nearer and nearer to the throne. While 
darkness has setded around my steps, she has been 
changing from glory lo glory. O my sister ! once we 
lived, and loved, and walked together ; now how far 
are we separated ! " 

I shall be able to present the reader, occasionally, 
with a few passages of a more regular form of diary, 
though contained on loose sheets of paper, which, 
however, if not more oracular, are more truthful and 
more precious than the famous SibylHne leaves. To 
the serious Christian they will furnish evidence of her 
deeper searchings of heart, more earnest spiritual 
desires, and richer experience of divine things. To 
all they will evince her thorough sense of the value 
and importance of personal religion. Would that 
all who read -might be led by her example to as 
wise a renunciation of the hollow joys of the world, 
and as entire and blessed a consecration to the service 
of our God and Savior. The following serious reflec- 
tions will introduce her character to the pious mind 
in a very favorable light — chiefly, however, as in a 



48 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



transition state preparatory to more extended useful- 
ness and enjoyment. 

"Friday Morning, Oct. 11. — In seven weeks 
from yesterday will be Thanksgiving. Then I hope to 
be at home. Home ! a thousand blessings on the 
word ! most significant of all the sweet hopes and 
wishes of the heart ! O that I may be forgiven the 
distrust and discontent which so unfit my mind for 
receiving with gratitude the innumerable blessings 
given me, and for the pure contemplation of that bet- 
ter and enduring home above. 

"Sabbath Morning, Nov. 3. — for a closer 
walk with God ! ' I have endeavored this morning to 
give myself anew to Christ. Knowing the wayward- 
ness of my affections, the deceitfulness of my heart, 
and the feebleness of my resolution, I tremble at the 
thought of entering into covenant with a being of 
perfect holiness — even the great God ; yet I remem- 
ber that it may be with Him as He reveals Himself in the 
face of Jesus Christ. O, I pray for grace to keep me, 
that I may live to His glory. O for an abiding sense 
of His presence ; this only can keep me. Long have 
I dwelt and walked with the world, and with those 
who followed its spirit. Now it is enough — - 1 would 
now give up all ; take, O take me to Thy care, my 
Savior. From this worldly state, sometimes for a 
few days, I have raised feeble petitions and desires to 
Thy throne; but from this state I would now rise 
myself. O receive me, or I fall again. Let me dwell 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



49 



with Thee, O Lord ; and may my love to the world 
be as occasional, as faint, as have been my thought 
and affection for Thee. May I prove the promise 
made to those whose ' life is hid w^ith Christ in God.' 
I would now renounce all for Thee. 

' Poor as it is, 'tis all my store, 
More should'st thou have, if I had more.' 

"Sabbath Morn, Nov. 10. — I have sweet hope 
and consolation in God. How rich His mercy ! How 
condescending His love ! How free and full His 
promises to us in Christ Jesus ! How unceasing His 
care and long-suffering to us-ward. O that my heart 
may be melted in gratitude to Him for His unspeaka- 
ble gifts. O that my soul may be stayed upon Him, 
and be daily becoming more and more free from sin, 
possessing more and more of the image of Christ. 
This is the will of God, even our sanctification. O 
that this w^ere mine. O that I might receive it now 
through faith in Christ. I know it is my privilege ; 
yet, something whispers it is not for me ; I could not 
maintain it if I possessed it ; but — ^ My grace is siifft- 
cient for thee ! ' 

"Monday, Nov. 11. — It is a lovely morning, but 
O, how lovely to my heart open the sweet scenes 
which lie before me. I have calm, sweet enjoyment 
in my Savior this morning. 

' The opening heavens around me shine, 
With beams of sacred bliss, 
For Jesus shows His mercy wme, • 
And whispers, I am His.' 

5 



50 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



"Monday, Nov. 18. — To-night I have enjoyed 
sweet communion with God in prayer. O that He 
would reveal all His will in me, and enable me to ful- 
fil all His requirements. He has shown me to-day 
something of my unworthiness ; it has humbled me ; 
yet, O, I cannot see it as it must be seen by Him ; in 
mercy He conceals from me its depth and darkness. 
O how merciful ! 

" What a life I have led for weeks, and months, and 
years ; how full of self and vanity ; how far I have 
strayed from Him whom I professed to follow. What 
a wonder of grace that I was not long since cut 
down as a cumberer of the ground. O why was I 
spared ? For all these years my path has been all 
blessings ; and now, after so long time. He enables me 
to feel a desire to be unreservedly His; now He still 
calls me with the voice of love. He has added brighter 
hopes of happiness in this life to the same rich offer 
of everlasting life. What depth of mercy ! Had He 
awakened me to the subject by danger and afflictions — 
but He has led me with more than parental gentle- 
ness and love. What can I say ? 

^ Here, Lord, I give myself away, 
'T is all that I can do.' 

" O help me to serve Thee faithfully, if Thou art, 
indeed, fitting me for usefulness. 

" Saturday Night, Nov. 23. — It is to me a solemn 
hour, for it closes the last week of the term. I look 
back with humility, with feelings painfully melancholy. 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 51 

and yet withal a mingling of gratitude ; — how imperfect, 
and often ineffectual, have been my efforts to promote 
the highest interests of those with whom I have been 
surrounded. O that I could recall those opportunities 
of usefulness, for I have failed in them — I have failed 
in them ! How much might have been accomplished 
in our community by a spirit of fervent, humble piety ! 
Imperceptibly, yet certainly, it would have spread a 
sacred influence upon all around ; and although the 
^ thought were broken, language lame,' yet, if sustained 
by the living principle of faith unfeigned, it would not 
have been lost, but would have added to His glory and 
to my bliss in the eternal world. But it is past. The 
reflection overwhelms me ; my heart almost ceases itvS 
beatings before so stupendous a thought- — but God is 
greater than my heart, and knoweth all things. If, 
while I attempt to recall the scenes of a few months 
past, to talk with those months, 

* And ask them what report they We borne to heaven, 
And how they might hare borne more welcome news ; 

if, while incompetent, as I now am, to realize the respon- 
Milities of life, incapable of seeing them as they are seen 
in heaven, the thought so sickens and overwhelms me, 
how can I bear the revelations of the last day ! This 
surely must be ' the death that never dies, ' — to gaze 
constantly upon a life all misimproved, with the bright 
light of truth for ever beaming upon its devious course, 
revealing all the thoughts, emotions, deeds ! O, it is a 
fearful thing to live, though that life be passed in the 
lowliest sphere which the hand of Providence could 

I 



52 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



trace for the immortal mind ; yet can we not forget 
that, lonely, secluded, uncultured, 'tis still — the im- 
mortal mind — still has duties to perform worthy of its 
destiny, and in view of righteous retribution ! " 

As usual, while she was Preceptress, Miss Thompson 
spent the ensuing winter at home — a word of magic 
power to her, to endue at once with life all thoughts 
and feelings most delightful to the heart. And what 
she so ardently anticipated, she as eagerly enjoyed. I 
will close this chapter with extracts of a letter to Mr. 
Pickard, which left her amid the rest and comfort of her 
small though much loved family circle. It contains 
expressions of personal unworthiness, similar to those 
which appear in her reflections at the close of the 
term. i 

"Boston, Jan. 14, 1840. I am not remarkably ! 
interested in observing times and seasons, but there 
are some days I can never pass by without some- 
thing like thought — of these, the last day of the 
year is with me most attractive to reflection. As I 
have no events of much importance with which to fur- 
nish you a rich treat, I must occupy some of this fair 
surface with the plain materials of domestic manufac- 
ture, and will tell you a little of my commencement of 
the new year. 

" Mother was not very well, and retired early ; father 
went to the ' Watch Meeting ; ' but I, who felt that I 
had much to transact in my own mind, preferred to 
watch alone by our parlor fire. Accordingly, assuming 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 53 

a posture most indulgent to thought, I was soon sur- 
rounded by my best friends, that is, you know, always 
those we love best. The company was select, and not 
very crowded — there were clergymen, and laymen, 
and sisters. The scene was very satisfactory to me, 
for, as, beside taking lead in the conversation myself, I 
furnished them all with something to say ; of course it 
could not be otherwise than just what my vanity dicta- 
ted. I held my levee nearly an hour, and dismissed 
them all soon after the clock struck twelve, with mutual 
good wishes. But you must not think I could pass 
over the time which seems so to connect the past and 
future, without some more serious emotions than I have 
been describing. I tried to fix my eye steadily upon 
the year, the last sands of which were about to mingle 
with the irrevocable past. It was a moment of painful 
interest — I have never known one as much so — fori 
had never passed a year so crowded with high respon- 
sibility and opportunities for usefulness. The thought 
that those opportunities could never return to afford 
me a chance of retrieving neglect, of correcting errors, 
of amending even the best of my deeds, but all un- 
worthy as they left me, so I must again meet them, 
became almost overwhelming. When suddenly, wea- 
ried with these reflections, and almost disheartened 
from farther attempts, a text of incomparable sweet- 
ness came to my mind, ' Behold the Lamb of God ! ' 
I think that in some degree 1 feel the import of this, 
but what an infinite fulness is in it which I too little 
apprehend ! My dear friend, you know not how unfit 
I am for anything like usefulness ; surrounded by 
4# 



54 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



blessings and privileges, I have failed in performing the 
least of His commandments, and w^onder that His 
mercy should yet give me so much as the strong desire 
I now feel to serve Him better. When your prayers 
ascend for the most unw^orthy, may I not then believe 
myself remembered ? 

" Do not again think of the spirit of my w^ords more 
highly than you ought to think — it is very embarrassing 
to appear better than one really is. I must still say, 
friendship, however sincere, can ask for you no more 
than the one thing most valuable — a heart waiting ' to 
learn the will of divine Providence,' and submitting its 
own to that, in the assurance that ^ He will fulfil the 
desires of them that fear Him,' and make their paths 
plain. We have but to turn an eye to the past years of 
life to be convinced that we know not what are really 
the important or unimportant circumstances which 
come to our share as events pass by ; often those which 
appeared too small to be the objects of a thought at 
the time of their occurrence, are of sufficient impor- 
tance to influence the whole course of life. I have 
had frequent opportunities for observing this myself, 
yet, after all, I fear I have not, with you, that firm 
trust in Him, with whom are all circumstances and 
their consequences. 

" I am already beginning to look across into the 
second week in April with some apprehension. I wish 
May came between March and April. But I confess 
it is wrong for me to shrink so from a situation which, 
as I have never sought, I must believe to be an arrange- 
ment of Providence. 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



55 



CHAPTER IV. 

Principal object of the Memoir. New Term, reflections. Trust 
in God. Benevolent Association. Letter to Mr. Pickard. Her 
interest in personal holiness. Robert NeAvton. Close of the 
Term. Fair for Oregon. Belief in Special Providence. 

Some readers may possibly regret that, in this vol- 
ume, no more details are furnished of her labors in the 
school. But, in the first place, such details would not 
be particularly interesting, as they were chiefly the 
ordinary routine of practice, though superior in kind, 
in the ornamental department of the Academy. In 
the next place, the bare recital of such details would 
be of httle service, unaccompanied with suitable ex- 
planations, and an enlightened statement of principles, 
I for which I profess no ability or skill. But above all, 
' it was the principal desire of her husband and friends 
j that her bright example of social, moral and Christian 
I virtues should be held up for the imitation of others in 
j the various relations of hfe ; as well as to honor the 
grace of God , which was so admirably displayed in her. 

The quiet, retiring disposition of our sister caused 
her to become the subject of but few striking incidents 
in her course of life ; at least of such as might occur 
to a bolder and more confident line of conduct. True, 



56 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



she was, now and then, devising and promoting some 
plan to add to the interest and usefulness of her pupils, 
as may be noticed in her journal by and by. Yet her 
chief ambition, or aim at least, seemed to be to perform, 
in the most perfect and beautiful manner, the services 
and duties required of her at the time, cultivating, as 
best she might, a simple and childlike submission and 
conformity to the high and holy will of God. 

With what emotions and purposes she entered upon 
the cares of another term, the reader will see in the 
annexed passages from her diary. 

Tuesday Evening, April 7, 1840. — The sun is 
just setting beyond the plains where I have so many 
times watched its declining light ; and now I behold 
it once again, separated from Home, and its connected 
joys, surrounded by high responsibilities, and with no 
strength in myself to sustain them. I feel calm and 
supported. The darkness which I saw hanging over 
my way a few days since, I do not find. What is this ? 
Can I hope it is truly assistance and comfort from God ? 
I should think it so indeed, had I not by murmurings 
and repinings proved myself unworthy, so unworthy. 
Yet it must be from above. I will believe that some 
whose prayers are acceptable before the Throne of 
grace, have interceded for me. I will believe that 
God, of his unfailing mercy and exhaustless love, listens 
to those prayers, and will aid me to discharge those 
duties which his own Providence has so evidently 
marked out for me. 'Away, sad doubt and anxious 
fear.' 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



57 



"April 15. — Have just been reading Rev. Mr. 
F.'s letter on Christian Perfection. How deep, and 
full, and glorious was his experience. What is mine ? 
O Thou, from whose eye no secret can be hid, pity my 
folly, my ignorance of Thee, my darkness and stupidity. 
O help me that I may know more of Thyself. O re- 
flect love into my heart that I may more fully and 
constantly love Thee. Thou must give the power ; 
O, aid me to give up my hold upon the world for happi- 
ness, and to seek only that which cometh from above. 
Would that I had unwavering confidence in a faithful 
God. Would that the presence of Christ were more 
constantly manifest to me, and the precious blood of 
sacrifice, with which I have been bought, were yet more 
and more the subject of my thoughts. 

" Friday Morn, June 5. My dear brother and sis- 
ter are now on their way home — to my home ! — 
while I am left here alone to discharge the many du- 
ties devolving upon me ; and yet I am not alone, for I 
know that One is with me who cannot disown or for- 
get me. While He commands to pray, while He 
invites to prayer, while He encourages us to come to 
the Mercy seat from which he ever listens, how can we 
be alone? 'Tis true. He is a Sovereign, and sits upon 
a throne, but it is a throne of mercy — thus Majesty 
is blended with compassion ; and we may have com- 
munion with the glorious Author of our spirits, and 
intercourse with Him who suffered upon the cross to 
redeem them. I will remember Thee, O Thou Holy 
One — and in Thy glorious kingdom. Lord, ^ remember 
me.' 



58 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



"Wednesday Evening, June 24. — On Monday i' 
evening our company met, and formed themselves into I 
a benevolent association for the support of a little girl ' 
in Oregon, once benighted Oregon, now merging into 
light. It is little that we can do ; the wiser and greater 
in this world might despise what may seem an ineffec- 
tual effort. 'T is, indeed, trifling, yet 't is all which 
now seems practicable for us, and — the altar' sancti- ' 
Jieth the gift. May our humble efTorts receive the 
blessing of Him from whose gracious lips these conde- 
scending words once fell." 

I- 

On the 26th of June she wrote Mr. Pickard a letter i' 
in which, after referring to his personal experience | 
narrated in one to her, she more particularly details f 
some of her views and feelings in relation to the state ' 
of grace denominated Christian Perfection, or perfect j 
love. This subject had begun to occupy much of her 
thoughts, and to awaken strong desires for more reli- i 
gion. I hope the reader will carefully note every step ! 
in the progress of her mind to a full appreciation of the 
necessity and freeness of this blessing, and to the full 
enjoyment of its glorious experience. ^ 

The letter also relates, somewhat circumstantially, 
an interesting visit to Springfield, for the purpose of 
hearing Rev. Robert Newton preach. ^ 

" My dear Friend, — It is Friday evening, a period ^ 
of time ever grateful to me as introducing a rest of 
two days from my more active and monotonous era- ' 
ployments. Although the post will not favor us till 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



59 



Monday, I am disposed to secure the first moments 
thus disburthened, in replying to the letter which 
greeted me last evening. That it was not unwelcome 
you will believe ; more — profitable, I trust it is and 
will be to me. The feeling of embarrassment which 
will often trouble me in addressing you, now throws a 
double spell over my pen. I am reluctant to answer it, 
because I know I cannot do so with those corresponding 
religious feelings which will harmonize with your own. 

As I read it, I was deeply and painfully aware of 
the contrast between the state of your mind, and the 
variable, sometimes almost insensible condition of my 
own heart. For a while, overcome by a true sense of 
the unworthiness of my whole life, I well nigh cast 
away my confidence, and was ready to forsake my 
hope of the interest in Christ which I had so often 
thought mine, but of which I could discover so little 
genuine fruit. I will not give you anything hke a 
description of the depression which gathered around 
me, until I could see nothing clearly, either of resolu- 
tion or encouraging promise. I tried to seek the 
throne of heavenly grace, but the way seemed closed, 
and I could not urge the suit I had commenced. O, it 
was indeed an hour of darkness most oppressive, 
which permitted me not to remember the repose of 
night. To-day, I have less despondency, but com- 
munion with my heart still teaches me a painful lesson. 
I believe the promises of God, all, but fail to apply 
them to myself. Will my ever kind friend excuse me 
for the gloomy picture I have presented, and yet 



60 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



further, if I should express some of the emotions of 
my heart — which, I fear, is thought far better than it 
is estimated in the sight of heaven ? 

" The relation of moments of your experience, for 
which I thank you, encourages me to tell you the feeble 
aspirations of my own desires, not for holiness of 
heart, but for more constant devotion to God, for 
more abiding peace of mind. That high gift of re- 
deeming grace, of which I hope you noiv have the full 
evidence, I have never thought could be mine. It is 
a provision which I can believe and rejoice in for 
others, but from which I practically imagine myself 
alone excluded. I can from my inmost heart repeat 
the words of the hymn commencing, 

' I want a principle within.' 

Do you think it possible to possess all these without 
believing to the sanctification of the spirit ? That is a 
place so near the throne that I dare not think of at- 
tempting to occupy it. Yet for this I must not, do 
not, excuse myself. 

During a few weeks past my mind has been much 
more than heretofore awake to the necessity of ' living r 
with heaven continually in view.' I have tried to be 
more active and constant in the discharge of Christian 
duty, and to remember the great importance and obli- 
gation of 'personal effort; ' and, in connection with 
these, have often enjoyed, as I think, the direct witness 
of the spirit, that I was accepted in His sight. But 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



61 



often I have not been sensible of this, and have re- 
proved myself, then, with the words, 

' For what are outward things to Thee, 
Unless they spring from love ? ' 

It is this I need continually. I know I do desire, 
more ardently than any thing beside, to possess this, 
and feel ever the assurance that T am approved of 
Him who seeth in secret. 

I do rejoice for you in the privilege w^hich you 
enjoyed at home, of the society of those who ' pro- 
fessed this great blessing' — together with all the sacred 
associations of that concluding evening hour — an hour 
to be remembered in heaven. I am glad to learn that 
the influences of the Spirit have been so diffused in the 
Province, as well as in highly favored New-England, 
In our community, at the present time, we have very 
little religious interest. I think I never knew so little 
here. What responsibihties rest upon those who lead 
the minds now committed to their care ! I feel my 
weakness and imperfections as I am not accustomed to 
feel them, and know that without larger supphes of 
grace I must be almost valueless and useless in our 
community. You have sometimes said that I had 
remembrance in your prayers ; now you will not forget 
me. I desire unchanging love to God, and to exem- 
pHfy it in all my conversation. I desire a clearer 
witness of His love to me. May I solicit for these an 
especial recollection ? 

" I must not omit to mention a circumstance of high 
pleasure to me. I had the gratification of listening to 

I ^ 

I 



62 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



the Rev. R. Newton when he preached in Springfield, 
From his first arrival on our shores, I thought it would 
be worth a little pilgrimage to see him. I had heard 
he was to preach in Middletown, Hartford and Boston, 
and thought for the moment, ^ woe is me that I sojourn 
in ' Wilbraham. When, unexpectedly, he came so near 
as Springfield, the power of attraction was very strong, 
and a large number of our company hastened to hear 
him. I never thought of obtaining a seat, but, when 
I found myself within hearing-distance, was perfectly 
satisfied. He chose for his text the words, ' Instant 
in prayer.' The sermon was blessed — I can think of 
no more descriptive word — so eloquent in purity, sim- 
phcity and practical instruction. I should think it 
possible that those who went to hear an orator were 
some disappointed, but tears abundantly testified its 
eflfect upon the heart. My own was perfectly in tune 
to receive the most pleasing, and, I hope, profitable 
impression. How delightful to see the first order of 
talents consecrated to, and elevated by the service of 
the gospel : to be able to forget, while listening, that 
such an one is popular, (in the ordinary application of 
the word,) by his humble, spiritual appeals to the con- 
science. After the exercises in church, I had the honor 
of dining with him at the house of Mr. Robb. The 
interview was very brief, as he left immediately for 
Boston. 

"Again wishing for you every aid and happiness in 
your many duties, I remain, 

" Yours sincerely, H. M. T." 



HANNAH M. PICKARD, 



63 



July 22d, the following occurs in her journal. 
What expressions shall I use in making my entry of 
this day's termination. O for a thankful heart ! I am 
poor in nothing but thanks. 

* How do Thy mercies close me round, 
For ever be thy name adored.' 

Our term has closed. Its opportunities for usefulness 
so misimproved, are past. But O, how rich, how full 
and unnumbered are its mercies, equivalent only to my 
ill desert. Every thing has passed away satisfactorily ; 
more I have received than I could have asked, of grace, 
wisdom and favor with the people. \i is all of God. 
O, let me never murmur or complain again. Thou 
hast kept, and wilt still direct all my interests, and all 
the interests of my dearest friends. 

" Our Fair, for which w^e have toiled^ is past. We 
have exceeded my most sanguine expectations — to 
God be all the praise, to us the bliss. The sales have 
amounted to more than seventy dollars — and this 
evening we again meet to plan what shall be done. 
The little girl in Oregon is to bear the name of H. 
M. T." 

It has seldom been my privilege to meet with an 
individual who had so intelligent, steadfast and con- 
soling a reliance on the guidance of the Divine hand, 
as this beloved disciple of Jesus. At first, it was a con- 
fidence in the universaLoperations of supreme wisdom, 
goodness and power ; but in her later experience it 
acquired the character of a delightful, heart-felt repose 



64 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



in love and power divine exerted in her behalf — a 
Providence that watched and directed her steps, a 
special presence that accompanied and guarded her. 
The reader will be pleased to see these remarks illus- 
trated here in two particulars, which most essentially 
concerned her happiness. One of them is of so tender 
and sacred a character that it would not be minutely 
traced, were it not for the important view which it 
gives of strong religious principle, and for the hope 
that the example may be serviceable to many a youth 
with similar designs and prospects. I refer now to 
her affiance with her future husband, in reference to 
w^hich she records her views and feelings shortly after 
a visit which she was permitted to enjoy in addition to 
the usual attractions of home during vacation. The 
other particular is her connection with the school, re- 
specting which she whites to Mr. Pickard :— 

" I suppose I shall pass the Autumn in Wilbraham. 
I have endeavored to think that I could be, at least, 
as useful at home ; that, perhaps, it was my duty to be 
there ; and that, consequently, I should not return 
here, (Wilbraham ;) — but cannot say so, because I 
am not sure that this would be according to the order 
of Providence. Shall you think me almost visionary 
upon the doctrine of Special Providence, by my fre- 
quent allusions to it ? I am happy in my firm reliance 
upon its watchfulness. Notwithstanding I can see 
little good which I am doing here, or which may result 
from my being an incumbent of this responsible station . 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 65 

I would not leave while by doing so I should transgress 
against a voice undefinable within." 

Of her visit home, she thus writes in her journal : 

August 23d. — Home and its pleasant scenes have 
again been mine — that home so dear, the dwelling of 
my Father and my Mother ! The cordial welcome of 
friends has every where greeted me ; the too partial 
eye of kindness and affection has overlooked my un- 
worthiness, and awarded to me the tribute of sympathy 
and regard. The tenderest hope of my heart has been 
fulfilled — I have enjoyed the society of the one who 
is much beloved, who will, probably, in the future, be 
my dearest earthly /rientZ and protector. I am thank- 
ful that I am permitted to trace the finger of Providence 
in this acquaintance ; and should after circumstances 
or coming changes thwart the present design, I think I 
can say still, ' Thy will be done.' Yes, pleasing as 
are the emotions of the present, and bright as are now 
to me the hopes of the future, I think T would rather 
they should perish from my way, than that I should be 
compelled to feel that the eye of Providence no longer 
regards it with favor. 

" I would that our love to each other might be 
sanctified by a constant and unreserved dedication of 
ourselves and our interest to the service of Christ. 
Without this we cannot be fitted for usefulness, and 
for a becoming discharge of the duties which appear 
to be marked out for us in life. They will be most 
difficult and arduous, without Divine aid. Yet I can 
rejoice that such duties have been revealed to my 
6* 



66 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



friend as the way in which he must serve God. I 
prefer, above every temporal good, that to him should 
this grace be given— -that he should preach the un- 
searchable riches of Christ — the unsearchable riches 
of Christ ! O Thou who callest to holiness, enable 
me to be Thine, to serve Thee in newness of life each 
moment^' 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



67 



CHAPTER V. 

Advancement in holiness. Christian Perfection, reasonable and 
Scriptural. New resolutions. Sense of responsibility. Increase 
of light. Evidence of acceptance. Rejoicing in God. Earnest 
desires. Longing for God. Her relation of the experience of 
perfect love. Continued consecration. 

In August, Miss Thompson was again in Wilbra- 
ham. During this term, attentive as usual to her 
regular duties, she yet made greater advancement in 
the divine life than ever before, and exerted herself 
more widely in promoting the salvation of her pupils. 
For her own personal safety, and for suitable Christian 
influence, she had long felt the necessity and importance 
of a greater maturity in grace. The object at which 
she should aim, had been attaining distinctness ; and 
she began to realize that nothing short of entire sancti- 
fication would answer the claims of God, and fulfil 
her responsibilities to others. As we have seen, she 
at first shrank from this elevated position, but as she 
contemplated it, she felt its attractions, and finally 
reckoned herself " dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto 
God through Jesus Christ our Lord." 

How truly desirable and appropriate does the state 
of ''perfect love" appear for a Christian. It is the 



68 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



perfection of his character. There is in the human 
mind a disposition to deUght in whatever is perfect of 
its kind. A rose-bud is very beautiful, but should all 
roses remain only buds during the season of flowers, 
we should feel that there was a deficiency in the pow- 
ers of nature, and they would become painfully disa- 
greeable. A well-formed dwarf is an object of admi- 
ration as a man in miniature; still we feel that the 
contrast between him and an able-bodied man of the 
ordinary size is very unpleasant. A babe is lovely — 
a beautiful bud of promise and hope ; an active, amia- 
ble child is an object of deserved interest ; but what 
if all human beings were to remain only babes or 
children henceforth? We should mourn for the future 
condition of the race and of the earth, and sigh for the 
perfect men and women of other days. 

And do we not wish to see perfection in moral and 
rehgious character? Are we satisfied with our own 
continual schooling in the " first principles of the ora- 
cles of God," when for the time of our profession we 
ought to be teachers, fathers, and mothers in Israel ? 
Are we pleased with the general dwarfishness of Chris- 
tian character in the church? O where are the men of 
God who have arrived at " the measure of the stature 
of the fulness of Christ?" Does the church now 
train up her members as she once did, — as she ought 
to do? The apostles were continually urging their 
brethren to "go on unto perfection;" to be no longer 
babes and children, but to be "perfect men," of "full 
age." They taught them not only to be thoroughly 
instructed in the doctrine of Christ, but to be "perfect 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



69 



in love," for ''love is the fulfilling of the law;" ''sin- 
cere and without oflfence till the day of Christ," in 
moral and religious character. 

I know that to the pride and ignorance of the human 
heart, there is an air of "ultraism," of extravagance 
and needless rigor in this requisition. At least, the 
representations which some Christians feel it their duty 
to make, of the obligation and privilege of believers, is 
considered by formal and worldly professors as the 
dream of the visionary, or the wildness of fanaticism. 
But how highly honored of God should that church 
consider itself to be which is made the depositary of 
this glorious doctrine; how great its advantage for 
usefulness, how great its responsibility ! 

Our sister's mind v»^as trammelled and embarrassed 
with the prevalent objections and excuses that prevent 
so many, even of the Methodist community, from em- 
bracing the exalted privilege of purity of heart. It 
was long before she fully resolved to seek and know 
for herself the blessing of "perfect love." But she 
did so resolve, and entered into this rest. And we 
now proceed to trace, in her own language, the way 
in which the Lord gently drew her on, till she was 
enabled to testify, " the blood of Jesus Christ his Son 
cleanseth us from all unrighteousness." 

The Sabbath morning after her return to Wilbra- 
ham, she writes in her diary as follows : 

" I feel a strange backwardness this morning. How 
is it, my heart? Am I not ready to say that I do 
desire, more than any thing beside, to be the Lord's — 



! 



70 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



to be approved by Him who discerneth the thoughts 
and weigheth the motives ? My spirit certainly answers 
promptly, Yes. But why am I so cold in my love to 
God ? Why am I not now happy in Him ? Friends 
and home and future hopes can command my thoughts. 
And when memory or imagination presents them be- 
fore me, all slumbering emotions of joy are aroused, 
and the anticipation of again mingling in these plea- 
sures fills my mind with delight. O why are the re- 
presentations of these scenes so vivid, and why do f 
have so dim conceptions of that bright world of holi- 
ness and glory which may be my home for ever ? Why 
so feeble aspirations of love to Him whose love for me 
changes not, but now is as tender and free as when 
He remembered my polluted soul in the hour of atone- 
ment ? It is because those pollutions have not been 
fully washed away by faith in that atonement, that this 
dark shadow of the fall is still upon my nature. O 
God, renew me in Thine own image. 

' Seal Thou my breast, and let me wear, 
That pledge of love for ever there.' 

I do purpose in Thy strength to strive to 'live with 
heaven continually in view.' I purpose with Thine 
aid to neglect no means to secure this object. Among 
the number shall be more watchfulness and medita- 
tion. I have often thought I would cherish the spirit 
of these by recording my thoughts, but I have not 
been systematic in this, and have often neglected it 
altogether. I now purpose to be more constant in this 
practice ; it will, I doubt not, if rightly attended to, 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



71 



promote my spiritual advancement, and be otherwise 
advantageous to me." 

''Aug. 25," she again writes, "I hardly know how 
to record my emotions to-day. I will try, that I may 
be able more effectually to analyze them to myself. 

" I feel that it is my duty to be ivholly given up to 
God, to serve Him in newness of life. I know that 
unless I do so, I cannot be useful in life, or in death 
be prepared to meet Him. But O, my heart is so un- 
stable, my desires so fluctuating — at one time ardently 
aiming at the blessedness thus offered, at another 
coldly following the convictions of duty. I would be 
thankful that this conviction remains upon my mind ; 
it must exert an influence ; certainly it prevents me 
from slumbering upon the subject. O God, withdraw 
not from me these faint enkindlings of the Spirit, but 
increase them until 

'All I am is lost in Thee,' 

I will not yield to the sinful inchnations of my heart, 
which so readily rise up to check the operations of the 
Spirit. No. It is the will of God, even my sanctifica- 
tion. I must believe this ; I do desire it. O aid Thou 
me to seek it with all my heart, for in that day I am 
assured that I shall find. Help me to renounce the 
world ; humbly and faithfully to bear the cross. 

"How much work there is for me to do — I faint at 
the prospect. I am here ' in weakness and in fear, 
and in much trembling ! ' God has placed under our 
influence and instruction so many human beings — 
beings who have commenced an existence which will 



72 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



never terminate — susceptible of being persuaded to 
that course by which they may spend their eternity in 
happiness, or if not so influenced, must never reach 
that place of bliss. O God, help me to feel this re- 
sponsibility every moment; — let me never shrink from 
word or act which Thou shalt reveal as duty; and O, 
let me never so grieve thy Spirit that I cannot perceive 
the things which Thou wouldst have me do. Lend, 
lend me thme aid, and, all insufficient as I am, I 
can speak some word for Thee which shall bring 
forth fruit to thine honor and glory. 

" 27. — Several days past have been dark to me. I 
knew I must and did prefer the service of God above 
all earthly good, but could not find within those sen- 
sations of delight in His character which I desired, for 
it was too holy for my impure soul to gaze upon. I 
can, I think, trace the cause, — I was unfaithful at 
home. Shall I ever bear the cross with my particular 
friends ? I have so neglected religious conversation 
and prayer with them, that I wonder God has con- 
tinued to me the daily blessings with which I have 
been favored ; and above all, that He has, even for a 
moment, manifested any tokens of love to my soul. 
O the depths of His goodness in our unworthiness ! 
the fulness of His mercy amid all our sins ! 

None but God such love can show.' 

" Yesterday and to-day, I have felt to prefer a ter- 
mination of temporal and spiritual existence, rather 
than live so distant from my Savior in heart, and so 
unlike Him in character and spirit. To-night I came 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



73 



to Him in prayer. I thought I could no longer endure 
the situation in which I was ; I must seek again that 
mercy so unlimited, which yet, it hardly seemed, could 
be reserved for me. I came at His feet ; — I begged 
for some word which should ' life and peace afford 
and the kind message of that mercy which immedi- 
ately spoke within was, ' I will, be thou clean.' I 
hesitated, and grieved that it was from myself alone — 
yet still it breathed in my heart. It was not withdrawn 
for my doubts. As a light suddenly beaming upon 
dark waters to the anxious mariner, who fears to avert 
his steady eye lest he shall lose its friendly rays, but there 
it glows, uninfluenced by his fear, so was that word to 
me. O how shall I record His mercy suitably. O 
increase Thou within my soul that heavenly light ; let 
me never, never, never again lose sight of it ; but O, 
may it continue to brighten unto perfect glory. It will, 
if I live a holy life, 

" It must be hoHness of heart which I desire. It 
must be the sanctification of the spirit of which I am 
convinced I stand in need. Something must be done 
j to remove from my heart all remaining traces of sin. I 
dared not aim so high as this ; but I must, I can ask for 
this, and for nothing else than this. Jesus my Mediator, 
my Redeemer, it must be that Thou art a Redeemer 
i from all sin. It must be, as Thou hast declared. Thy 
will even my sanctification. Yes, there was merit suffi- 
cient in Thy death to purchase even this for me ; and 
I J Thou art represented to us as a continual offering for 
1 1 sin. I must believe, God being my helper, I will try 
j to believe, even to the attainment of this. 
7 

l\ 

I 



74 



MEMOIR OF MRS, 



" 28. — My mind is lost for words suitably to express 
my obligations to God, and to redeeming mercy, this 
evening^ I feel a brighter, yea I have a firm evidence 
within that I am accepted through the beloved. O God, 
keep my heart with thy ' peace which passeth all under- 
standing.' Let me ever walk in the light of Thy 
countenance ; then * labor is rest, and pain is sweet.' 
I just taste Thy mercy, but O, let me fulfil Thy com- 
mandments, and grow in the knowledge of God my 
Savior. It is my duty to know Thy character, to study 
Thine attributes, to trace Thy providences, to receive 
communications of Thy grace, and thus to attain the 
measure of a perfect character in Christ Jesus. 

" O how precious are Thy words; they are sweet, 
more to be desired than gold. What love didst Thou 
display to the world in condescending for us to leave 
on record those promises which are the sure refuge of 
Thy church and the basis of their hopes, while assured 
of Thy faithfulness. O let the word be written on my 
heart, let it be graven on the walls of Zion, let it be 
promulgated through the world — - faithfulness — Thou 
art ' faithful and just ! ' Thy children cannot suffi- 
ciently praise Thee ; the spirits of the just made perfect, 
and all the angel choirs cannot sufficiently praise Thee. 
O keep me each moment by Thy grace, until I come 
up at last to mingle my voice with theirs in that better 
land who render ascriptions of praise ' to Him who 
hath loved us, and hath washed us from our sins in his 
own blood.' Blessed be His name ! 

30. — Sabbath Morning. — I look up this holy 
hour, and sigh for that holiness of heart of which the 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



75 



moments speak, that I may be prepared for that rest 
of which this day is the emblem, and the impHed as- 
surance. God is here. In Him all things exist. Be- 
neath, above me and around, all are instinct with 
Thee. I feel the overshadowing of Thy presence, and 
my heart swells with sacred joy. How delightful to 
my mind the knowledge that God liveth and reigneth ; 
that a new and living way is opened by which we may 
have access to Him, not merely through the natural 
operations of His hand in the universe, but through 
the internal manifestations of Himself to the soul that 
believeth — by that mysterious, holy communion of 
heart which we enjoy when, living to Him, we feel the 
the words of our Savior, ' because I live ye shall live 
alsoJ I know that my Redeemer lives, I think of Him 
tliis morning as interceding for me — -O the depth of 
the riches of His grace — for me who have a thousand 
times grieved and denied Him, a thousand times re- 
sisted the influences of His Holy Spirit, and rejected its 
winning consolations. In vain my thoughts attempt 
to explore the mystery ; my Savior lives and intercedes 
— I shall live also ! I would take the gift of life thus 
obtained, and render it wholly up to Thee. It is 
Thine, forasmuch as I have not been redeemed with 
corruptible things as silver and gold from my vain con- 
versation, but with the precious blood of Christ, as of 
a Lamb slain without spot or blemish. In days of 
the Levitical Priesthood, and ceremonial law, the 
transgressor humbly brought to the Lord's altar a lamb 
without blemish, and by his sprinkled blood the sin 
was forgiven. How much more shall we receive the 



76 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



gift which is by grace, who come with penitent bold- 
ness to the throne of mercy by the way which he has 
consecrated through the vail of His flesh ! The prom- 
ises of Him who ' is faithful and just to forgive our 
sins/ guard each step of the way — we cannot fail. 

In a corresponding tone of earnest spiritual desires, 
she wrote to Mr. Pickard — " Sept. 1. — The small com- 
pany who meet weekly in my room to spend the hour 
of twilight in prayer, have just dispersed, and now as 
its last rays are fading, I am happy to remember for 
you that it is Tuesday evening. I am truly happy to 
remember what is probably now your employment. I 
would that I could, with more faith, present before the 
throne the desire I feel that the presence of the Holy 
Spirit may rest abundantly upon you and your charge. 
I will specify nothing more — if He be indeed wi^b 
you, every circumstance will be regarded, every want 
will be redressed. But O, what shall I do with my 
unbelieving heart ! It will not be subject to ' the law 
of my mind,' so that I cannot do the things that I 
would. Shall I ever see the time when it shall be 
subdued fully ? is a question I ask myself with much 
fear. I hardly dare, in this matter, examine myself 
whether I be in the faith, and yet it is a thought which 
banishes every other from me. On occasions like the 
present, though you ask my remembrance, you can de- 
rive little benefit from my small supply of faith — but 
the promise is to you. What an inestimable sentence 
to be recorded for us in the word of God, is that pas- 
sage which you introduce at the commencement of 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



77 



your letter. With what tenderness do such addresses 
invite our confidence to repose on Christ. To me 
there is no common thought contained in the words ' I 
v/ill give you rest.^ Let me thank you for suggesting 
these things to me. I will try to remember ' Who 
hath said, I will not leave you comfortless.'' I loill try 
to rely less for happiness upon the flattering assur- 
ances which the world so often intrudes upon my 
thoughts, and make that only my choice in which, 
amid every vicissitude, I may feel confident. He will 
not leave me comfortless. 

I thank you for your ' daily ' recollections, and now 
often gratefully think I may ascribe it in part to your 
petitions in my behalf, that the long suffering of God 
is still manifested to me by the impartation of increas- 
ing desires to serve Him in all newness of life, yes, 
even unhlamahly in holiness. I do not think I can 
be otherwise useful or satisfied. Although I do now 
feel a sense of pardon, yet, undeserving this, I am not 
at rest. I know there is beyond me a sea of ful- 
ness, which the eye of faith has not yet revealed to 
me. When I can have a constant sense of the pres- 
ence of God, tender and confiding love to Him, I 
believe I shall be satisfied ■ — I shall then be awaking in 
I His likeness.''^ 

She continued the same devotional and pious strain 
in the subsequent records of her journal, evidently 
approaching nearer the realization of her enlarged 
desires. Note the following : 
7* 

I 

li " ■ 



78 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



" Sept. 7. — This has been a week of various emo- 
tions. I have tried to seek the highest blessing afforded 
in this hfe — an evidence of my full acceptance with 
God ; that I may reckon myself ' dead indeed unto 
sin, but ahve unto God through Jesus Christ our Lord.' 
I can see all, but I do not believe. I have not been 
accustomed to think this high blessing could be in re- 
serve for me. Although I did not feel myself excluded 
from any of the covenant mercies, yet I felt that to be a 
gift bestowed only upon the eminently pious — upon 
those whom God was preparing for important services 
in his vineyard. But are not all the services there 
important ? Is it possible to render there one act 
acceptable without hohness of heart, purity of mo- 
tive — the doing of it with a single eye ? It is true, 
my heart is persuaded of this, and will not rest, not 
only until I am dead indeed unto sin, but till I am 
alive unto God. O may it be so ! Holy Spirit, suffer 
me not to rest. With the conviction I now have of 
its importance, to slumber upon this subject would be 
to resign my soul to the sleep of spiritual death — I 
know it. 

" 10. — I would record my gratitude to the God and 
Father of my spirit — the God of all mercies and com- 
fort, that I am not yet deserted of His holy influences. 
He does not yet give me up to hardness of heart, and 
to bhndness of mind. No ; but, undeserving and vile 
as I have been. He still calls me to be like Himself. 

0 wondrous grace ! Whence is this unto mel 1 feel 
hope and joy in nothing else but the thought that 

1 may be wholly conformed to His image. And this I 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



79 



do continue to hope^ because He increases in me a 
hungering and thirsting after this. Yes, I shall see 
the King in his beauty.' Hidden in Christ I may see 
Him as he passes. O when will he come ? When shall 
I be pure in heart. As I have borne the image of the 
earthy, when, O w^hen shall I bear the image of the 
heavenly ? O for more active faith — the substance of 
things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. 
How sweet is the w^ord of God ! ' Thy word is truth.' 
New light seems to beam from its holy pages to en- 
lighten the eyes of my understanding. O may its 
promises be reahzed to my faith, and all His will be 
fulfilled regarding me. 

• ' O save a trembling sinner, Lord, 

Whose hope still hovering round thy word, 
Would light on some s^ceet promise there, 
Some sure support against despair.' " 

The glorious hour, at length arrived, when our sister 
yielded herself fully up to the claims of God's grace, 
and realized ''the fulness of the blessing of the gospel 
of Christ." Her relation of this experience, by the 
evidence of its truthfulness, and of her humihty and 
sincerity, cannot fail of being beneficial to all who 
shall duly appreciate her testimony. It may be well 
to observe that while her mind was in a state of earnest 
desire for holiness already described, she enjoyed the 
privilege of attending a Camp-Meeting at Ellington, 
Conn. This meeting was interesting to her, and, 
probably, contributed a share of preponderating influ- 
ence to the happy termination of her prolonged anxiety. 
The little prayer meeeting held in her own room at the 



80 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



recommendation of one of her dear friends, Mrs. 
Goodnow, was, doubtless, rendered a great assistance 
and motive to her eager pursuit of hohness. In this 
meeting she finally took the lead, and was made a special 
blessing to many, by her prayers and counsel. We 
find, by her relation, however, that her mind was pecu- 
liarly led by the Holy Spirit in her search after full 
redemption, and that she had taken no one as a guide 
or model, but followed the teachings of the Spirit in 
her final experience of the great salvation. This is the 
more valuable as her experience exhibits such a strict 
correspondence, in its essential features, with that of 
all who have enjoyed the same blessing, thus confirm- 
ing the belief that such experience is the work of God. 
This account is found in several different forms, which 
I will venture to condense in one, so as to give a con- 
nected detail of her experience. 

Sept. 16. — With humble confidence I would make 
mention of new hopes and joys — new indeed to me — 
the darkness is past, the true light now shineth. All 
praise be given to God ! All praise be given to God ! I 
can now reckon myself dead indeed unto sin, but 
alive unto God. Yes, even I am alive unto God, 
through Jesus Christ my Lord ! How sweet to add 
His name. I thank thee, O Father, for this way of 
salvation ; this is the new and living way. 

' O how can words with equal warmth 
The gratitude declare, 
Which glows within my ravished heart, 
But Thou canst read it there.' 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



81 



My earliest religious impressions were received by 
the bed-side of a dying brother, (the eldest of our 
family :) the kiss of his cold, damp lips, accompanied 
by a charge to meet him in heaven, (only an hour pre- 
vious to his death.) sealed the interest of eternity upon 
my mind with characters ineffaceable. Years after 
this, when my heart embraced the hope of the gospel, 
I was still a child, and won to it rather by the love of 
Christ manifested therein, than as the refuge which 
it offers from the WTath of God. This characteristic 
of my emotions at that time, together with my lack 
of those raptures experienced by some, has often led 
me to doubt the genuineness of the admitted change 
by which my name was placed upon the records of 
our church. I have looked upon it perhaps as natural 
religion ; this has ever been my most assailable point 
of temptation. Like many professed followers of 
Christ, my experience has been very fluctuating, often 
half-hearted, yet favored with seasons of enjoyment 
wholly undeserved by such cold affections. 

"For some months past I have occasionally felt 
the need of some influence which should keep me 
from so frequent backslidings of spirit, but I could not 
think that this influence must be none other than entire 
consecration. My thoughts have often been seriously 
arrested in view of my preparation for the present and 
future duties of life while so vacillating. I could but 
ask myself how much better prepared should I be for the 
employments and bliss of heaven, Were I to live on so 
till the hour of death. As my convictions of my own 
frailty increasedj I felt more and more the need of a 

I 



82 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



principle within to keep my sliding feet, and felt it must ^ 

be entire consecration alone. Yet, now altogether I 
convinced of this, I was unwilling to be sanctified. It 
was, to my inconsistent heart, at first, so attended by 

an appearance of ' ultraism,' that I think a tangible « 
offer of it some months since would have been declined 

by me ! This the merciful influences of the Holy : 

Spirit overcame. As the Spirit strove with me, and S 

my repentings were so often kindled, I grieved more ^ 
and more that I so grieved the Holy Spirit whereby I 
might be sealed, and began to see new beauty in 
this blessed doctrine. It no longer seemed to bear 

the odium of fanaticism, but O, it became to me the f 

object of intense desire — to be pure in heart the con- ji 

stant breathing of my soul. I thought not of the ! 

high enjoyment, but to be accepted of 'Him who f 

seeth in secret,' was my only wish. This became my ['' 

prayer by day, my dream by night. Day after day it !' 

assumed new beauty and importance, until my com- j' 

mon employments seemed intrusive; earthly visions ' 

faded away before it ; earthly friendships were, for the i 

time, almost forgotten, for '^^ 

S 

' While I sought my Maker's grace, 

And flesh and spirit failed before his face, ' 

Their tempting presence from my breast I drove ; — '■ 
It was no season then for earthly love.' 

I resolved to make an effort to obtain this blessing. • 
I sought the throne of grace in constant prayer. On | 
Saturday, (Sept. 11,) closing my door, and locking 
out care and all possibihty of interruption, I resolved ■ 
to make the surrender of all — my little all ! I im- ^ 



i 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



83 



plored the aid of Him who is a discerner of the 
thoughts and intents of the heart. I drew from their 
lurking places my faults and selfish appetites — O 
what a multitude of guilty outcasts ! I paused over 
them one by one, as my nature struggled to retain 
them, and would let none escape me until the friendly, 
penetrating light of Purity enabled me to see clearly 
their unworthiness. I examined and re-examined, 
examined and re-examined, particularizing every cir- 
cumstance which could influence me, weighing all. 
Matters of taste most annoyed me, and came up in a 
thousand forms: yet these little things, which may do 
so great mischief, I think I was enabled fully to over- 
come. I am sure now I desire none of them as I 
once did. The last thing which I had to contend 
with was this— would I be willing to return again to 
W. if such should seem to be duty? This, indeed, 
brought much contention of will, but in this also the 
will of God shall be done by me. I looked again, 
but could find nothing more which opposed at all; 
alll could resign, yes, all — the present, the future, 
all for Christ. I thought I might reckon myself then 
dead to sin, in that it had not dominion over me ; but 
I could not believe my full acceptance, and say, 
^ alive unto God.' I could not feel direct access to 
the throne of mercy. I resolved to leave there my 
gift before the altar, and wait the evidence of its ac- 
ceptance. Several days passed in this w^ay while I 
maintained my spirit of consecration ; I felt this to be 
my only safeguard against my former cold-heartedness 
and final loss. Still I hoped ; the thought that it 



84 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



might be before long that this high gift would be mine, 
sustained me. Yesterday (15th) I began to fear lest 
a promise being left me of entering into that 7^est, I 
should come short of it through unbelief. To-day the 
way has been much clouded ; I feared it was not for 
me — that J could not believe; and thought that God 
could have no sympathy with such culpable timidity 
in relying upon His word ; He would withdraw His 
spirit from me, and leave me to perish. My mind 
was exceedingly distressed, when suddenly the tender 
sentiment recorded by Isaiah came to mind, ' Can a 
woman forget her sucking child? Yea, they may 
forget, yet will I not forget Thee.' Again, with new 
confidence, in my room, alone, I sought to plead the 
promises of God which recurred to me. Again I 
hoped, again I sought to go up to the throne to bring 
down the blessing. I tried and tried to soar, until the 
wings of my faith wearied and drooped, and I was 
glad to come down, and rest low at the feet of Christ, 
I then found the word verified, it ' is nigh thee, in thy 
mouth and in thy heart.' My mind was soon taken 
away for a moment by the fullness of the atonement. 
I had never so discovered it before. I saw it wrought 
out by God himself; then, infinite as his own character, 
boundless as eternity, it must prevail, it must serve for 
me too. My whole soul adored in awe. O how blessed, 
thought I, to devote my life — a thousand lives — to 
Love like this ! My fear and all was gone, save the 
delightful thought of being His alone. ^ Quietness 
and assurance ' filled my heart. I had paused in my 
prayer, and could but ask, what is this ? It is being 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



85 



' alive unto God.' I can never express the sweetness, 
the joyous haste, with which I added the words which 
I had seldom observed before, — ' through Jesus Christ 
our Lord ! ' I repeated them again and again. I 
had been anxious for an indubitable, startling evidence 
of acceptance. It came not in power or rapture, but 
like the message to Elijah. I heard a still small voice, 
and believed the Lord was there, and when I heard it, 
I wrapped myself in the mantle of Christ's atonement, 
and listened." 

In a letter to her sister, Mrs. Otheman, from which 
a part of the above relation is taken, she continues the 
account of herself, as follows : 

" From that time I have not doubted that my nature 
is pure in the sight of God, — through Jesus Christ, 
our Lord. I think so, because I had been many days 
in deep darkness, but since that have known none. 
I think so, because since then, though more severely 
tempted than ever before, I have received unusually 
rich blessings ; because I have near access at all times 

i to the throne of gi*ace ; and because of a conviction 

I upon my mind which forbids me for a moment to 
doubt that God has done this for me. To Him I owe 
the confession I now make to you. Since commen- 

j cing this relation, something has repeatedly suggested 
to me that I had better not speak of it until, at least, 
I return home. But of this suggestion I am too suspi- 

I cious to yield. I remember my past fluctuations. My 
heart still keeps the offering first made, as unreserved 



86 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



as then. For this I am thankful ; it is enough. If I 
can have no more happiness than the consciousness 
that this is the case, 1 am satisfied. My only hope is 
in the broad atonement. 

''I was not led to the consideration of this subject, 
and to desires for this blessing, by any thing which 
has been said to me, or by reading. I cannot doubt 
it to be only the work of the Spirit on my heart. I 
came not to my present feelings by following the light 
of other Christian experience. I should think it, per- 
haps, a feebler testimony than most could bring; but I 
have a calm, full evidence when in secret prayer which 
is resistless. Indeed, what would be the correspond- 
ing testimony of all saints, without this? I have 
told you all that is in my heart. You know my con- 
stitution, and will not expect me to come to you per- 
feet in every respect, nor without my ready smile, 
I am not yet able to speak of these mental exercises 
under that responsible word of which I have had so 
exalted and fearful ideas — sanctification ; but I should 
do wrong to withhold a relation of my experience 
tluis far. And now I count not myself to have attain- 
ed, either to be already perfect ; < but this one thing I 
do, forgetting those things which are behind, and 
reaching forth iinto those things which are before, I 
press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling 
of God in Christ Jesus.' 

" I did not expect to extend my remarks so far over 
the sheet, but I wished to be definite to convince you 
of my sincerity, and, if possible, to give you the evi- 
dence which I myself have that I have not undertaken 
this in my own strength." 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



87 



CHAPTER VL 

Effects of her recent experience. Holiness, the glory of the 
Church. Religious influence. Interesting illustration. Grace 
produces humility. Severe temptations. Sensitive conscience. 
Supreme love to God hallowing other affections. Contempla- 
tion of Heaven. Shrinking at the Cross, Close of the Term. 

The blessing which our sister had now obtained, 
was but the preparation for further advancement in 
holiness, for more decided and extensive usefulness, 
and for trials which awaited her, to which she would 
' have been totally unequal without this " abundant 
grace." 

Her attachment to the church of her choice, which 
maintains this distinguished doctrine of grace, and 
which employs means so admirably adapted to promote 
a growth in holiness, was greatly increased by her 
present spiritual attainments. 

It is generally the case, that as the members of out 
I church increase in spiritual affections, they become 
I stronger in their love and devotion to her doctrines and 
usages. On the other hand a declension in religion is 
generally preceded or followed by an indifference to 
these modes of thought and action. It requires a high 
state of religious principle and zeal to carry forward 
i the operations of genuine Methodism, And then^ 



HH 



fi|/ni/i, wo \\tivi' himIoiiI>I« <I < vni< iic,c for IIm- Ik Ik i (h.'if 
(Iro H»!iiliriH MlM jhmI jUJK'lircw (»(' our < lmrrli hnvr lK:(;ri 
m("!ifi!4 of |tr(»moliii^';, in n m iiinrKjiMy ^Irgroo, 
llio ( JhriHlijiii (ix)>i;ri()ii(!() ami ()ii(oym(iiil holli of 
miniHfry niul iiifirnlM rKliip. Wn rvjowo tlml il ih ,Mf>. 
Wo rnii only wihIi llmt MrllMMliHlH iniglit, Imi Inm 1<> 
(hoir prili<'/l|>l(;M and llirn mmmIcm <»( Ojtcr.'ilion, and llir y 
wofild ydl |h) (Ik- lionoriMl and Kurrc isHlul inMli urncnls 
oi' rM|>i<lly "wiM'ndinfr Hrriplnrnl liolinrHH ovrr (ln'm- 
IsirMlM.'' Tins iH our iriifiHion. WlifMi W(i (•< jisc (o ann 
u( lliiH, find (liiH only, our » fin<ll(:Hli( k will l»n r< inov« (l, 
our gloiy will linvo dnparl(!d, iiud wo nludl ImiI, Imvo nu 
our porlion to wll down in itiourninf^ ovor ilio doHohi- 
liouH ol* oin allar-i. Im iI not lln- anxioiiN cry ol rvcry 
onr5 nnion^/, uh Lord, kivivo 7V/»/ work r' " Wo 

urn piiNMing flurnifrh fii-ry IrialH: if lliry luil purv-o 
away our niuM, and pnrdy oin nouIh, W(5 sludi liav< 
nolliin;; lo f'rar. Mollnn^j; hul " llolinoHH lo i\u) l^ord ' 
vvdi cnaldr lli<- < luii< li |<» inanil.nn Im i lionoi and lirr 

I'loni (lie lime ol i rnlnr rniiNrri a i ion, MiSH 
I'lininp'Joii wan iiioro rarncMl and Mur< ('MHrul in rllorlH 
lor llm HpirilunI wolfaro of li(;r pupifn. Slio had I'rr- 
'|U( nlly fKMijdil H(!aH(»nH of por«oiitil convorHaiion ami 
prayer willi llioni. 'I'Ium prnrlirci hIhi conlimird ; and 
lor llir pui|)OH(\ visih d llirir rooms, and hciiI lor llicni 
lo visit Ikmh. Many w ill, il im Imprd, liavo CtlllgO tO 
IdosrHJod in ojrmily lor lin lailldul and allrclioiiah* 
lahoiH for ilioir Halvaliou. Tla^ Hihlo rlasH, wliirli mot 
nt lior room, nOor tou on Sunday, and whicli now con- 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



89 



sisted of thirty young ladies, was an important and 
fruitful field of usefulness. 

But her influence was not confined to such system- 
atic and direct efforts. She breathed the spirit of Christ 
in her daily intercourse with her scholars, and would 
frequently give them a word of religious advice or 
invitation, when attending to their exercises in school- 
hours. Of this latter kind of effort the following is 
an interesting illustration, furnished for these pages by 
the young lady herself, who was its happy subject. 
The precise period when the circumstances occurred is 
not stated, but the person referred to writes as follows : 

" Early in Sept., 1840, while a member of Miss 
Thompson's class, she came and sat down by me at 
the drawing table, and in her peculiarly attractive way, 
said she wished to talk with me about religion. Sev- 
eral times the previous term, she had, in her friendly 
intercourse, invited my attention to the subject, but not 
with such anxiety and earnestness as now. Said she, 
after some moments conversation, ' When I have spoken 
to you of serious things, you have been disposed to 
listen, and not turn lightly away ; but have you ever 
let the subject rest with the weight on your mind, 
which its importance demands ? You think you have 
not deep conviction enough, yet you think you ought 
to be, but are not a Christian. Perhaps it is all the 
conviction you will ever have, and if you do not im- 
prove upon this, you may have no more of the Spirit's 
influence.' And she affectionately urged me, if I had 
8 



90 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



any serious feelings, to let them have room, and to give 
calm and undivided attention to the things which I 
knew to be of so much importance. She concluded 
by relating to me the anecdote of the old soldier at 
Gibraltar : 

' One evening, as the sentinel was pacing his usual 
rounds, and calling out at intervals, ''AlFs well," he was 
much surprised to hear the call answered in a solenm 
voice by the words, " The precious blood of Christ." 
He was not superstitious, and upon repeating the call, 
and hearing the same reply, he resolved on finding out 
the cause. On searching in the direction of the voice, 
he found an old soldier, who said he could not sleep ; 
and when he heard the cheerful call, the thought came 
forcibly to his mind that it was through the sacrifice of 
Christ that " all was well," and he could not help ex- 
claiming. The precious blood of Christ." It resulted 
in the soldier's conversion.' 

The thought that it was to the Cross that the world 
owed every temporal blessing, as well as the Christian 
his hope of eternal life, so fixed itself in my mind, 
that, followed by the Spirit's influences, and the con- 
versation and prayers of that ever c?ear teacher, it led 
me, in a few days, to hope for acceptance through that 
' precious blood.' " 

The pious reader will be pleased to trace her reli- 
gious experience in more of those private records so 
rich in sentiment and in language, which have already 
contributed much to the interest of these pages. In 
the following we may notice the proper influence of 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



91 



large supplies of grace to produce true humility ; ex- 
alted in the Divine esteem, she was abased in her own. 

"Sept. 18. — I still find it sweet to adore the good- 
ness of God ; to exclaim, ' how great is Thy goodness 
which Thou hast prepared for them that love Thee ! ' 
O what a privilege, to take the place which best be- 
comes me, the lowest at the foot of the cross. While 
from past and present unworthiness I could not look 
up to the Throne, yet this, all this I may forget — -I 
may look up to Christ and live ! God has done great 
things for me. He is doing great things ; and I find 
within my heart the strong expectation that He will 
permit me hereafter to enjoy such blessings as ' Eye 
hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath entered into 
the heart of man.' Again I give myself away. O to 
sink lower in humility, to become more and more like 
Christ. It is not a desire for bliss, it is not a desire 
for the joys of heavenly society alone which now fills 
my mind ; it is simply, only to be pure in heart, to be 
like Christ! 

" Undoubting confidence in God in the midst of severe 
temptations, is the only shield and refuge of a soul in 
its endeavors to live entirely consecrated. This is 
illustrated in the succeeding extracts, as well as the 
fact that fulness of joy is not always realized even 
with the evidence of full acceptance. 

"Sept. 25. — The past week has been strewn thick 
with mercies ; blessings more full than any I have be- 
fore realized, have been imparted to me at times. But 
O, what temptations have beset me, and into which I 



92 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



have well nigh fallen for moments ; yet out of them 
all the Lord hath brought me. The most bitter and 
most successful has been the suggestion that I am not 
wholly given up to God as I have believed. At times 
my confidence has been much shaken. My former 
ideas of the sanctified state return to mind ; and be- 
cause I have not all the rapture which I supposed to 
be the invariable attendant upon consecrated endeav- 
ors, I have yielded to fears. It is not so much rapture 
that I desired for itself, but as a seal of my acceptance. 
This I will leave with the Lord henceforth. It is 
enough that He delivers me out of temptation at the 
throne of grace. He never turns me from there empty 
away. Blessed be His name ! However Satan may 
darken my hopes, and throw a mist over my confidence, 
at the mercy seat I can always 

' read my title clear, 
To mansions in the skies.' 

A voice tenderly assures me of my adoption into the 
family of Christ. Is not this enough, O my soul ? I 
will no longer doubt, I will no longer doubt. This 
refuge is mine ! * The new and living way ' is always 
open, always guarded. No lion is there, no ravenous 
beast goes up thereon, they shall not be found there, 
but the redeemed shall walk ther# 

' Hither, when hell assails I flee ; 
I look into my Savior's breast ; 
Away, sad doubt, and anxious fear, 
Mercy is all that's written there.' 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



93 



" 29. — Mercy again whispers to my heart. Hours 
of dark temptation have almost concealed from my 
view the hght of evidence which gleamed upon my 
way, betokening my full consecration ; but it is again 
there. May God help me to guard the precious treas- 
ure. I must be obedient and walk by faith. By the 
unlimited attributes of God, by the faithfulness of his 
promises, by the fulness of the atonement, I will reckon 
myself dead unto sin, and trust momentarily in the 
mercy of Christ to keep me alive unto God." 

The peculiar sensitiveness of conscience which a 
high state of grace produces, is evidence of the genu- 
ineness of the work of the Spirit on the heart, and 
tends to guard the sanctity of Christian character, the 
glory of God, and the best good of society. Though 
there is no condition of mind, this side heaven, in 
which an accountable being is not liable to sin, yet 
there is one in which the least known deviation from 
strict rectitude produces intense pain, and uneasiness, 
and an immediate effort at reconciliation. Such a state 
is found in entire consecration, when the ivhole bent of 
the mind is to do the will of God. The occurrence of 
an actual moral fault is not inconsistent with the fact 
that the person m^ be, immediately before, in a state 
of full acceptance with God, and may, immediately 
after, recover, through the atonement, His forfeited 
favor. But it will always be found that the fault in 
such a case, is the hasty result of strong temptation, 
,and is, in itself small, as compared with other sins ; — » 
though what might seem a trifle to another, would, to 



94 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



the sanctified heart appear exceedingly aggravated. It 
is only when a person has lived for some time in the 
loss of the evidence of entire consecration, that he 
falls into great offences, and becomes wesk as other 
men. If these views are correct, we may more fully 
appreciate the nature of the following record, which 
we would not withhold, as it shows most convincingly 
the sincerity of our sister's profession and experience. 

" Oct. 16. — How full of mercy is our Savior ! How 
* faithful and just ' is our Heavenly Father to forgive 
us ail unrighteousness for Jesus' sake ! Yesterday, I 
fell into tempation, and, I fear, by a moment's expres- 
sion of wrong feeling, wounded the blessed cause of 
Christ. O, I grieve bitterly, deeply for this. Why 
did I not watch more, when the tempter is always so 
near? 

m 

' Thee may I always nearer feel,' 

O my refuge and strength. Perhaps by that unguarded 
moment God is now teaching me that I cannot stand 
alone. No, every moment I must live in Thee, 

' Every moment, Lord, 1 need 
The merit of Thy death.' 

How sweet to rest upon these melft Here is safety, 
here is strength, here is righteousness too, and all for 
the tempted, the weak, the polluted ! God can make 
even the wrath of man to praise Him, and the remain- 
der he will restrain. Glory be to Him, He does not 
take from me the inward witness of His favor. I can 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



95 



now give up my anxiety concerning this. I have 
sought, and did at once receive pardon at His hand. 
I have sought it ' carefully ' from those whom I of- 
fended. O that it may not injure His blessed cause. 
I can hide nothing from the eye of Omniscience. No, 
I rejoice that he reads my heart. I give all to Him, 
' my little all ! ' ^ Freedom, health, and friends, and 
fame.' I have heard His tender voice saying to me 
to-night ' Lovest thou me more than these ? ' With 
tears my heart replied, *Thou knowest all things, 
Thou knowest that I love Thee.' " 

It was now a time of revival in the Academy. Sev- 
eral of the students were made partakers of salvation. 
In this work she took great delight, and was instru- 
mental in aiding some to find the Savior. She re- 
cords an instance as follows : 

"Oct. 18. — God still blesses me, and condescends 
to use so poor an instrument as myself to His great 
glory ! I am humbled in the dust. O let me bear 
Thy full image, that I may glorify Thee, through 
Jesus Christ our Lord ! I feel like being all devotion 
to God, all humihty. O to be divested of every thing 
pertaining to self. I want to be a whole, continual 
sacrifice to God, tS^ live a fife hidden with Christ in 
God. I now try to give up all anew, and rest in the 
death, the precious blood of Christ. This evening 
one of our company, in whom I have felt much interest, 
has been delivered from the power of sin, and enabled 



I 



96 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



to believe in Christ. After returning from the altar in 
church, I went to her room, and we spent an hour in 
prayer. We give all the glory to God ! May she be 
kept by his abounding grace until we meet before the 
throne in heaven." 

The following consistent and happy views of the 
holiness and joys of heaven, suggested by the con- 
templation of the death of an acquaintance, will be 
read with pious interest. And it will be remarked that 
the thought most transporting to her mind is that no 
sin, nor danger of sin, can invade the purity and bliss 
of that glorious state. 

''Oct. 18.— To-day we have consigned to the un- 
disturbed silence of the grave a meek, lingering victim 
of consumption. Her conflict with temptations is 
past ; her fear of grieving a Savior's love is exchanged 
for rest in His bright, glorious presence ; her weary 
days and restless nights are numbered. Where suns 
go not down, and the hght of eternal, blissful day 
knows no coming shadows, there she is blessed ! and 
more than this ; she drinks from the fount of holiness, 
she breathes the air of holiness, and will be for ever 
assimilated to that Being whose holiness makes the 
glory of heaven — the hope of tRe redeemed. For 
ever there ! For ever there ! Here her spirit sighed 
for full salvation, and thirsted to quaff from this pure 
stream. She lingered, and feared, and faltered, like 
me, through unbelief, but such hours cannot return to 



i 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



97 



her. O could one glance of that exceeding glory and 
fullness, which is now opening, still opening to her 
undinimed vision, be vouchsafed to us, how v/ould the 
weary soul take courage, and spread its wings for 
higher flights. But now take courage, O my soul ! 
Through Jesus Christ our Lord I can say, I shall see 
him, though not now ; I shall behold him, if not nigh. 
Spiritual warfare appears to be before thee — fears 
to disliearten, snares to beguile, unbelief to deter, and 
life with a thousand varied trials to cast its darkness 
o'er thy way. But faint not; a few hours and all 
these may have vanished away, and, O my soul, thou 
mayest be in heaven ! No fears, no snares, no unbe- 
Hef can hinder there the progress of the soul ; no 
shadow from the life that now is falls upon that 
which is to come. Faint not ; for should a long and 
dreary way be thine, and not one ray of joyful com- 
fort beam upon thee — trust in Christ, I heard a 
voice from heaven, saying, " To him that overcometh 
will I give to eat of the tree of life, which is in the 
midst of the Paradise of God." 

How ready we are to be excused from a duty which 
our groundless fear magnifies into a cross, heavier, as 
it seems to us, than even the grace of God can enable 
us to bear. And in our folly we prefer some easier 
way, when infinite wisdom and love are pointing out 
the path to exalted and purest happiness. May we 
wisely decide, with our sister, to let God choose for us, 
knowing that He will call us to no work which He 
will not qualify us to perform. 
9 



98 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



" Nov. 7. — Through the most merciful influences of 
the Holy Spirit, I still feel to keep all upon the altar. 
I have not those rapturous enjoyments of which many 
speak, but I feel that dear as are the friends and hopes 
and enjoyments of life to me, the Savior is infinitely 
more dear. O I do desire to be like Him wholly, to 
grow in His knowledge and favor. He will keep me 
in the hour of temptation, which I now perceive before 
me. The grace of God, how richly abundant fop every 
demand which we may make ! I feel that I have lost 
strength, and thrown obscurity upon my evidence, by 
neglecting to perform a requisition. I thought it could 
not be that I, in my weakness, should really be called 
to bear a cross so heavy as the one which was repeat- 
edly presented. I was ready to say. Any thing but this, 
Lord. But ' any thing ' else would not do. God is 
the best judge in these things. I am resolved that 
should the opportunity again occur, I will go forward 
in the strength aflforded. God shall choose." 

With several extracts, partly epistolary and partly 
from her journal, we shall be brought to the close of 
this chapter, and shall witness the close of another 
Academic Term, and her return to the anticipated joys 
of home, 

"I am happy in the anticipation of so speedy a re- 
turn home ; its enjoyments brighten before me as I 
approach them. * Duty,' I believe, will permit me to 
spend the winter in Boston. In this I have more grat- 
ification, as my mother writes that she misses me so 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



99 



much as to be waiting anxiously for the time of my 
coming. I cannot reahze that I am so soon to leave 
these cares for home. The words rejoice me. Yet as 
I repeat them, they introduce another thought not less 
welcome, that not alone by the fireside where we seat 
ourselves, and gather round us the endearments of life? 
may we call ourselves ' at home.' 

' Soon will the toilsome strife be o'er 
Of sublunary care,"* — 

then, 

* We shall lay our armor by, 

And be with Christ at homeJ^ 

Can it be that we are indeed born to such a destiny ? 
* Conformed to Him, on Him to gaze,' ^without a 
dimming veil between ! ' 

^' I am still enabled to maintain confidence in my 
Savior, and to detract nought from the consecration 
which I so deliberately made, and which, I trust. He 
so graciously accepted. I must still exclaim. Whence 
is this unto me ? and fall in grateful adoration at His 
feet. Through temptations which, at times, almost 
compel me to doubt what God has done for me, through 
days in which the dull spirit is insensible of divine in- 
fluences, I continue to base my claim to the all-preva- 
lent merit of Christ, upon the words, ' Ye are not your 
own, ye are bought with a price, even with the precious 
blood of Christ.' While trying to keep His command- 
ments, ' the darkness and the light are both alike to 
Him.' In the dark shades of night He brings to 
perfection the delicately tinted flower; in the deep 



100 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



recesses of the mine He needs not the light of admit- 
ted beams to refine the bright hidden treasure — but 
when the sure sun again rises we may enjoy the beauty 
of the flower — W'hen the hour of necessity arrives. He 
will reveal for us the depth of those riches which He 
has prepared in the willing and obedient heart. 

" We have just held the last prayer meeting of the 
Term. These little seasons of prayer and religious 
testimony have been rendered profitable to me ; but 
they are now added to the number of privileges and 
blessings which cannot be recalled. Though I may 
not go back to them, doubtless they will return to me 
in memory in the future ages of eternity. Eternity I 
The earth will be removed, the sun be turned to dark- 
ness, the stars, one by one, leave their places in the 
sky, the universe become a ruin ; but we shall live 
on ; we cannot die ! The spirit will look down on 
these as but the changes of the passing shadow o^er 
the dial-plate, while it, with all its capacities, will be 
hastening on to other and still other scenes — for ever in- 
creasing in knowledge, for ever brightening in that 
blessed abode with more of God in its expanding 
powers; or forever, for ever sinking in darkness and 
despair and keenest regret. Then, what is life, the 
world, with its pretensions ? Let it pass on ; the throne 
of God remaineth sure ; by the new and living way, I 
trust, my life is bound to that. I trust that, cleansed 
from all unrighteousness, I shall at last come before its 
mysterious splendor and holiness, fully accepted in 
Christ.'^ 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



105 



shadows from my mind. I do ardently desire to be all 
conformed to His likeness. I am weary of wandering 
from Him ; I abhor myself that I can ever forget His 
love, or hesitate one moment to obey His voice with 
all haste and delight. And yet how often have I done 
this within a few days past. O my Savior, I come to 
Thee — I have no other hope, and it is not vain to 
trust in Thee, it is not profitless to call upon Thee. I 
come to the atonement, God is in that, and I can never 
be moved. I stand close by my Savior, who casts 
none away. My unworthiness is not seen , amid the 
ineffable glory reflected upon me by His righteousness. 
' Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed 
upon us,' spoken of by the Savior, ' thou hast loved them^ 
as Thou hast loved me ! ' O let the soul shrink at the 
thought ; let it forget the mortal vestment which hides 
the Celestial Presence from its vision ; forget the tur- 
moil and discord of these fleeting scenes, and trace its 
better portion, its wealth of blessedness, in these words, 
' Beloved of God ! ' This love is not the smile which 
earth's ephemeral friendship brings to bedight its fa- 
vorites with — nor yet the pure love, such as the hunian 
heart bestows, mid sorrow, change and death, upon a 
frail though kindred heart. On these He looks well 
pleased, and, by the holy blessing they impart, would 
have us learn more fully how to love Himself. Bright 
rays of joy from that full source are ever gleaming o'er 
our way, so bright that we sometimes forget they are 
but emanations — yet these, all these do not mark us 
the beloved of the Father, God having prepared some 
better thing for us that, without this, life should not be 
perfect — the glory to be revealed! 



106 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



I feel some delicacy in presenting to the public a 
portion of the following letter, as it refers to the senti- 
ments and experience of a distinguished individual 
now living ; but it is inserted for the purpose of giving 
the influence of his testimony to the wider promulga- 
tion of a precious and important doctrine of Christian 
faith, in which his own heart so truly and fully delights. 
To an act of this character he will oppose no scrupu- 
lous sensitiveness of his own, since, I trust, with him 
the glory of God, and the good of souls are paramount 
to all considerations of personal pleasure or ease. To 
Mr. Pickard our sister writes : 

"January 15th. — Yesterday, I received your last ; 
and, after concluding a document which I had just be- 
fore commenced, thought I might have time to attempt 
something for you, when Br. King called to say that 
himself and lady would take tea with us that afternoon, 
accompanied by Professor Upham, with whose name, 
I suppose, you are familiar in the walks of mental 
philosophy. Perhaps you are aware that both himself 
and his wife have heariily embraced the doctrine of 
holiness ; they are true and faithful witnesses of its 
power and blessedness ; it seems to be the air in which 
they breathe, and its spirit is evinced in every word. 
I think I have never met with any one who may more 
successfully recommend it. There is a childlike sim- 
plicity in his manners, which renders conversation with 
him most easy and agreeable. Holiness was all his 
theme, and during that short visit in which we met, 
strangers, probably to meet no more here, I felt that I 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



107 



gathered precious principles, of which I may reap the 
fruit in the world to come. This is certainly one of 
the rich advantages of holiness to be ' instant in season 
and out of season,' and by yielding to the impulses of 
a ready and faithful spirit, leave a deeper impression 
upon the heart than it is possible for one of less firm 
and free will to do. 

" He regrets, deeply, the general impression of the 
exceeding greatness of the blessing, which makes it 
appear so difficult of attainment to those who are led 
to contemplate it, and admire its beauty. He says, in 
few words, he wishes to assure such that it consists in 
nothing more than an humble, constant faith in God, 
and a more full development of long-sufTering, meek- 
ness, love and all the gentler virtues of the soul — that 
the act is only entire, free consecration, believing that 
He who has promised does accept, believing it steadily 
at all events, and without waiting first to receive the 
witness within ; because if we must not believe that 
we are accepted unless we can first have the full 
testimony, we are not walking by faith but by sight. 
He thinks that many do not receive an especial man- 
ifestation of the Spirit, when they may be cleansed, 
but pass into a state of mind characterized by ' quiet- 
ness,' and ' a calm resting in God ;' and he would 
never doubt but in such a state an individual may 
safely ' reckon himself dead unto sin, but alive unto 
God.' The Alpha and Omega, in his view of it, ap- 
pears to be faith — still faith. Is not this orthodox ? 

" Since last I wrote you, I have had very Httle en- 
joyment. Though T have felt continually that the 



11 



108 



MEMOIR OF iMRS. 



world is nothing to me, I have not had that sweet con- 
sciousness of entire dedication, and of communion 
with God as before. Your doubts and difficulties 
trouble me some, and lead me to fear, from the readi- 
ness with which I first admitted the ' hope,' that I have 
been deceived, at least that my experience may be 
very superficial. Perhaps this is not an unprofitable 
exercise to me ; yet \ know not what more to do, than 
to take what has been done by Christ. I will make 
mention of His righteousness — of His only — for cer- 
tainly I have none other. I can rejoice that the single 
object — to please God, actuates me in seeking to 
possess and exemplify this glorious attainment. I 
know that I wish to serve Him ever with all my heart. 
I give up the anxiety, to some extent, which has so 
disturbed me, relative to my acceptance ; though He 
hide Himself — yea, 'though He slay me, yet will I 
trust in Him.' Shall we not venture out farther upon 
the merits of Christ as the ground of our acceptance 
before God ? A short time since, in prayer, the thought 
was presented to my mind with peculiar force, of being 
so near Christ, so veiled by His atonement, that He 
only is seen by the Father ; then followed a remem- 
brance of the petition offered by Him while manifested 
in the flesh — ' That the love wherewith thou hast 
loved me, may be in them.' What can this mean ? 
Shall we ever be able to comprehend its depth ? Should 
we, even ' through Jesus Christ our Lord,' be permit- 
ted, with all the light of that holy place which He has 
'prepared' for us, to study into the now hidden reve- 
lations of that ' Love,' will it not then be overwhelm- 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



109 



ing mystery ? O, is it not encouragement to trust in 
the Savior, if God is willing so unutterably to honor 
such approach to Himself? 

" I don't know but you will almost tire of my ex- 
clamations, but as this idea takes possession of my 
mind, the ' new and living way ' appears so lovely, so 
near, so direct, that I reluctantly admit any other 
thought, and cannot forbear expressing these to yoOe 
' He is near that justifieth me I ' I must tell you an 
incident which very happily illustrates this to my mind. 
A young gentleman went with a party one afternoon 
to fish. They first sought the sea-shore, but being 
unsuccessful there, concluded to visit a lake upon a 
mountain some distance ofT. They found the ascent 
very toilsome, and long ere they reached the lake, were 
almost overcome with thirst. They searched around 
for water, and found a little pool, but it was so troubled 
and muddy that it could afford them no relief. The 
young gentleman selected an eminent position, and 
cast his eyes afar off to every point of view, for the 
desired object, but in vain ; and he was about to throw 
himself down in despair, when just at the base of the 
rock on which he was standing, and nearly concealed 
by the fresh, high grass, a clear little spring softly issued 
its waters ! " 

The following affectionate remembrance, written to 
a valued friend in Wilbraham, will be read with inter- 
est, for the delicacy and Christian purity of its senti- 
ments. 



110 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



Boston, January 28, 1841. 
My dear Friend, Mrs. Stebbins, 

In one of the Oriental countries, a beautiful tradi- 
tion prevails — that whoever first interrupts a long 
silence, has been touched by the wing of a passing 
angel. I do not assume to come to you with a super- 
natural message, or that I now write under any such 
inspiration, but simply to acknowledge a continued debt 
of affection and gratitude. There are many happy 
influences now in my mind which are not unworthy to 
be attributed to a source as high as this. Indeed with 
whom are the springs of Christian affection and sym- 
pathy ? Who first unsealed the heart, and caused it 
to send forth a genial flow of mingling kindness and 
love, to beautify and cheer our course through life ? 
Even to Him are we indebted who doubly blesses us 
by adding to these the name of His son! O, what a 
power in this thought to sanctify and render these 
precious gifts purer, dearer, and then too — eternal! 
Cheerfully may we resign to oriental lands their deli- 
cate imagery of genii and talisman — we have a more 
sure word of consolation, a richer gift, in hallowed 
friendship. You must excuse these exclamations — 
but I expressed, almost unawares, the vivid thought 
which awoke in my mind, of our deep obligation for 
these blessings of which you and I have so often tested 
the value. 

I have not forgotten you while my pen has been in- 
excusably silent. It is but another illustration of a 
truth which much troubles me — that I do ever make 
so poor returns for favors of which I am most unde- 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



Ill 



serving, for I do not think that you have ceased to 
remember me with interest, or that you will not wel- 
come my tardy testimonials of continued interest in 
yourself. 

I do not think I shall ever forget Wilhraham ; nay, 
with all the fluctuation in its society, with all the 
changes which years may bring, I must ever affection- 
ately remember it still. In default of more accurate 
information you would be amused with my frequent 
visits by the aid of that most perfect locomotive — the 
imagination. My first visit, on arriving, is usually at 
the Ladies' Boarding Hall, not, perhaps, because I find 
that the most pleasant, but by way of old association. 
Having passed from space to space, and found matters 
in customary order, I next glide out across to call upon 
Mrs. Raymond. I venture from room to room until I 
meet her ever cordial smile. Of her occupation, I am 
not always certain; of the tenor of her thoughts I 
presume I am less frequently mistaken, — a melancholy 
yet cherished object leads them, which I can appreciate 
sufliciently to point her to the bright issue opened to 
us in the words — ^' Of such is the kingdom of heaven." 
My next employment is to seek you in the well-known 
sitting room, shaking you heartily by the hand, which 
you do as warmly return, although now, I suppose, you 
can hardly acknowledge it. Jane and the babe have 
kisses of which they know nothing, and your hus- 
band many a wish for his success. But you will weary 
of the relation of my travels at home," in which 
none are forgotten from whom I could expect a wel- 
come. 



112 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



I am very desirous of hearing from some one of the 
success or operations of the Httle Missionary Circle, 
this winter, and of the interest which there may be in 
rehgion, in the Church and School. I hope the prayer 
meetings of Tuesday eve among the ladies are con- 
tinued. O, how much work have we before us, what 
facilities are provided to aid us, and how soon we may 
be called away from both. Hourly are we warned by 
the lingering sufferer, and the suddenly summoned ; at 
every point we may hear an echo, The Master is 
come, and calleth for thee ! " Such an hour would 
appear to me to be full of joy- — when the last voice 
invites the soul to its pure, unchanging Home on high. 
Are we both " looking for and hasting unto the coming" 
of that day ? We shall need white garments then ; 
are they now cleansed from every stain ? O, I rejoice 
that this blessed hope in the full efficacy of the atoiie- 
ment has not been hidden from me through unbeliefj 
or restrained by prejudice. I am thankful for our 
Church. But I am almost preaching to you, yet when 
I permit my pen to express a thought relative to our 
precious faith, I say more than I am at times aware of. 
I wonder not that the angels linger and praise. 
Sincerely and affectionately, 

Yours, H. M. T. 

In the early part of the coming Spring, our sister 
was called to drink deep of the cup of sorrow. She 
had spent the winter most pleasantly and profitably c> 
Her home affections had gathered strength in view 
of a probable separation ere long. To her mother she 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



113 



was most fondly and most deservedly attached. Mrs. 
Thompson was a woman of strong good sense, of great 
energy of character, united with unaffected piety, 
great friendliness and courteousness of manners, and a 
most faithful and affectionate heart. Hannah, being 
rather more feeble in bodily constitution than the rest, 
and of a very sensitive nature, had been an object of 
peculiar maternal solicitude and attention, and had 
thus, naturally, a large share in the affection and con- 
fidence of her mother. There was between them, too, 
at this time, a strong bond of mutual endearment in 
the similarity of their religious feelings and interests. 
They enjoyed many seasons of free social intercourse, 
on the subject of entire consecration, and looked for- 
ward to other seasons of happy spiritual communion. 
But, 

" O ! 't is one scene of parting here, 
Love's watchword is — Farewell 1 
And almost starts the following tear, 

Ere dried the last that fell ! 
'T is but to feel that one most dear 
Is needful to the heart, 
• And straight a voice is muttering near, 
Imperious, Ye must part ! " 

That revered and beloved mother was now to bid 
farewell to her dear family and friends, and to sunder 
earthly ties that they might be transferred to heaven. 
Hannah was making preparation to leave home once 
more for Wilbraham, when her mother was taken ill. 
She became worse very fast, and soon the sad announce- 
10* 



114 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



ment was made that she could not recover. The two 
daughters, with others, rendered her all possible atten- 
tion, but could not stay the silent march of death. 
Hannah was particularly assiduous during the very 
last hours of her life, and seemed riveted to her bed- 
side by intense anguish of feeling. Her mother died 
with the sweet expression of Christian triumph on her 
countenance, which she had uttered with her lips while 
she could speak, saying, ''All is well, all is well." But 
Hannah was for a while overwhelmed with natural 
grief ; and though sensible it was all right and for the 
best, yet ever after did this event occasion a sense of 
loneliness and loss which, though she was placed in 
circumstances most propitious for enjoyment, nothing 
was calculated entirely to remove. 

She communicated the sad intelligence of her 
mother's death to Mr. Pickard in the following letter. 

Boston, March 21, 1841. 

My dearest Friend, 

Once more I prepare to address you ; but O, how 
shall I describe the change which has occurred with us 
since last I seated myself for that purpose. As a dread 
consciousness of its reality is forced upon me, my heart 
sickens, and language seems to flee away. Can I tell 
you — my Mother, my dear Mother is no more. Yes- 
terday we consigned her long loved form to the keeping 
of the tomb. O, that day of tears and loneliness. I 
cannot, cannot express to you my feelings; — the pain 
of heart — the weight of grief and its wearisomeness 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



115 



« 

you have known, and will therefore excuse at this time 
a brief relation only of her illness and death. 

She was attacked quite suddenly, a fortnight previ- 
ous to her death, with complaints similar to some with 
which she had been heretofore occasionally ill ; and 
although more seriously affected, we had no apprehen- 
sion of danger until the Sabbath previous to her decease, 
when symptoms of organic disease appeared, which 
baffled the efforts of physicians, and affected every 
part of her system. She had not much acute pain, 
but for the last three or four days remained in a lethar- 
gic state, interrupted by some intervals of consciousness. 
During these intervals her reason never wandered, 
though she was able to converse but little, having 
much difficulty to articulate. This was a great depri- 
vation to us ; yet in the few sentences afforded us we 
have an abundant source of consolation. Last Monday 
morning, Br. T. C. Peirce came to see her. As his 
name was announced at her bedside, she slowly said, 

I am glad ; tell him. All is well," to which he sol- 
emnly replied, " Praise God," and she added " All is 
well — all is well — yes — all — is — well.'''' This 
was a favorite expression of hers ; and when a friend 
said " I am sorry, Mrs. Thompson to find you so sick," 
she replied, "I am glad you find me so well — all, all 
is well.^^ As the effect of the disease seemed to in- 
crease upon the brain, she remarked that she found 
great difficulty in fixing her thoughts long upon any 
subject, but said that she felt " great neariiess to God," 
and added, "Jesus is with me all the time" — "I have 
no fear of death because Jesus is there J' Never for 



116 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



a moment did she appear to be disturbed by a doubt 
relative to her final acceptance. O, how merciful is 
our Heavenly Father that He did not suffer her to be 
tempted in an hour when she would probably have 
been unable to bear it. I feel that for this mercy alone 
to my dear mother, I owe to Him all I am. 

From the commencement of her illness, she mani- 
fested no anxiety about any thing of worldly interest. 
I do not recollect that she made an inquiry concerning 
any of the affairs which had always occupied her at- 
tention, but she appeared to be daily in mind more 
removed from these ; and when nothing else could be 
mentioned to animate her, the name of Jesus never 
failed. We cannot doubt that He has now taken her 
where He is, that she may behold His glory. About 
half past eight o'clock on Thursday morning, the 18th 
inst., her spirit calmly passed away from us, without a 
groan, or gasp, or motion. We feel that we should 
yield her up as peacefully. We knew it was of the 
Lord, who is " too wise to err, too good to be unkind." 
But O, the pain — -the pain; my dear friend, you re- 
member all — -the tireless watching, the alternations of 
hope and fear, the anxious scanning of the physician's 
countenance, the importunate prayer to the great Phy- 
sician — but now all is past, we are alone. 

We all realize, in some degree, the fulfilment of the 
promise, When thou passest through the waters, I 
will be with thee." He is faithful and true, and does 
not leave us comfortless. We are enabled to acqui- 
esce, and own it to be the best time. God had evi- 
dently been preparing her for this event, by awakening 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



117 



in her increased spirituality of mind, and strong desires 
for holiness of heart. The day before she was taken 
sick, we were conversing together upon this subject, 
and she fully expressed her feelings. I do not think 
she had then a clear evidence of perfect love, but it 
was sufficient to cast out fear. We can but rejoice in 
our sorrow that she is removed from fatigue, and care, 
and sin, to the rest enjoyed in Heaven. 

Excuse this unfilled page, for my mind is weary, 
and confused with grief and want of sleep ; a few 
days' rest, I doubt not, is all I need. 

Very faithfully and affectionately. 

Yours, H. M. T. 



118 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



CHAPTER VIIL 

Returns to Wilbraham. Effect upon her of her Mother's death. 
Her reflections on that event. Extracts of Letters. Close of 
her connection with the Academy. Estimation in which her 
services were held. Her employment and appearance at home. 
Her sentiments in view of her contemplated marriage. Her 
marriage, and voyage to St. John. 

In about a week after the distressing occurrence just 
narrated, Miss Thompson was obhged to return to 
Wilbraham, where the school, already in operation for 
the Spring Term, was awaiting her valuable services. 
She bade her bereaved parent and sister a weeping 
adieu ; and commenced, in unwonted loneliness of 
feeling, the then peculiarly trying duties of her respon- 
sible station. With what deep yearnings of heart for 
the lost society of her beloved mother, she yet endeav- 
ored to submit to the infinite wisdom of Providence, will 
evidently appear in her letters and journal. Indeed the 
sickness and death of her mother were the severest trial 
to which her Christian faith and feelings were ever sub- 
jected. But though Satan was permitted to buffet her 
most distressingly with despondency, she, nevertheless, 
was enabled to hold fast her confidence and her integ- 
rity, and to derive, in the issue, most abundant 
encouragement and aid in her progress towards the 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 119 

world ''where immortal spirits reign." It is delightful 
to behold the vigorous young oak, whose leaves are yet 
bright in the freshness of spring, bending in graceful 
beauty beneath the storm which, at the same time, 
adds new lustre to its foliage by the descending shower ; 
and then, as the wind dies away, and the sun breaks 
forth amid the scattering clouds, rearing its unbroken 
branches, and spreading them abroad in quiet repose, 
and with deeper and richer verdure, beneath the re- 
newed splendor of the sky. Pity for the young tree 
bowed by the furious blast, gives place to admiration 
at the tested strength of its trunk, now more firmly 
rooted in the soil, and at the laughing lustre of its 
leaves, as they 

<' Glad, drink in the solar fire." 

This familiar image has been strikingly suggested to 
my mind as I have contemplated the immediate effect 
and final result of this great affliction upon the princi- 
ples and character of our beloved sister. I did fear 
for her, knowing the intensity of her filial affection, 
lest the stroke would be more than her religion, deep 
and pure as it was, could sustain : but I have also re- 
joiced to see in her experience an added testimony to 
the strength and blessedness of our divine Christianity. 
In the frequent recurrence of her thoughts to this 
event, which the reader may notice, he will see beam- 
ing out the sunshine-smile of a heart reposing in entire 
confidence on the wisdom and love of her heavenly 
Father. I have dwelt the more particularly on this 
point of her history, because it afforded the fairest test 



120 MEMOIR OF MRS. 

which she ever had of the reahty and resources of her 
acknowledged faith in Christ. The attendant circum- 
stances of her own dissolution offered her no opportu- 
nity to show what would really have been her views 
and feelings in the known approach of death. 
Upon arriving at Wilbraham, she thus writes : 

" March 30. — All is past — all is past. Removed 
from the dear, familiar scenes of home, hallowed by 
the presence of one once active, and blessing us with 
love and kindness, I turn a moment to review the way, 
and glance at the future. But O, the pain, the linger- 
ing anguish of that glance. My Mother ! My Mother ! 
can it be that we shall meet no more until it be where 
all is spirit ? O, without thy watchful care, and tender 
affection, how shall I encounter the ills and dangers of 
life ; to whom shall I flee for unfailing sympathy ; 
where can I find so kind forbearance, so wise and in- 
terested counsel, so ready an ear ? How can we live 
without thee ? But this I know, all is right. I will 
trust in the Lord and not be afraid ; and O, may He 
direct my way as I go forth uncheered by thee, and 
grant me a sense of His presence." 

The number of Miss Thompson's correspondents 
was small, and from but few of this small number have 
letters been received for this work. The letters which 
she wrote home were chiefly of a familiar, confidential 
character, that unfits them for publication, and many 
of them have been mislaid or destroyed. A few short 
extracts from her letters home, and one from a letter 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 121 

to Mr. Pickard, will keep the reader informed of her 
mental state during the remaining weeks which she 
spent at Wilbraham. Her time during this term was 
more laboriously occupied than it had been in any pre- 
vious one. There being one teacher less than usual, 
more devolved on the remaining number ; and she 
undertook the charge of two classes in French in ad- 
dition to her common labors, which obliged her to be 
employed with classes seven hours a day instead of six, 
beside increasing her preparatory cares and studies. 
These exertions, together with previous anxiety and 
present depression in view of her mother's death, and 
solicitude for her father's happiness, operated some- 
what injuriously upon her delicate constitution, and 
account for that sense of weariness which she ex- 
presses frequently in her letters home. To her sister, 
who superintended the domestic concerns of their 
father's family till her return home, she wrote : 

"April 12. — I am much relieved to learn that fa- 
ther continues well, and, in some degree, encouraged 
and happy, as I infer from the contents of your letter. 
I know that you will do all that it is possible for you 
to do to render him so ; yet if I think most anxiously 
about him sometimes, and imagine a thousand difficul- 
ties, you can appreciate my borrowed troubles, as you 
are not yourself a stranger to them. It would be idle 
and worse than that, to relate all the things I have 
imagined about you there. I cannot prevent almost 
overwhelming sorrow, sometimes, from these, taken 
together with the remembrance of mother's death, and 
11 



122 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



it seems as if I could no longer endure to be away 
from you. 

" You, Emma, cannot feel exactly as I do ; but you 
can suppose the painful emotions which at times 
weigh me down — alone in my room, away from every 
thing which seems like home, and with the vivid recol- 
lection of our loss, and recounting, despite myself, the 
last days and hours of our beloved mother. At school, 
or in my room, I am reminded of one of her expres- 
sions on that afternoon in which she suffered so much 
distress, ' We change the place, but keep the pain 
And O, the pain of knowing, that never, never shall 
we again, under any circumstances, meet her cheerful, 
animated smile and voice, or experience her unfaihng 
interest in our behalf, or feel that we are doing any 
thing which will afford her gratification. I know that 
you can and do follow me in these painful thoughts, 
although if you were here now, I suppose you would 
say, ^ Well, Hannah, I do not think we ought to feel 
so, but think how much better off she is than she could 
be to live longer.' I do know this too, and believe I 
never experience these emotions of sorrow at her 
death, without some feelings of gratitude and praise 
to God for her infinite gain. But afflictions, though 
we are assured they are ' light ' and ' for the moment,' 
must still be afflictions ; we cannot but sorrow under 
this, and think of the loneliness which we must feel 
without her. Let it not be lost upon us, for should 
such a dispensation fail to bring us nearer to the state 
in which we ought to be found, what may we expect 
yet to receive at the hand of Him who chastens us 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



123 



for our good. We certainly are not to cast away 
reflections on it, nor, in feeling acquiescence at the 
removal, consider it as concerning her alone, with 
no reference to ourselves. ' In the day of adversity, 
consider is the language of one who profited most 
richly by his repeated afflictions. I know that in 
the hurry and business of the time which we spent 
together, there was almost no opportunity to realize 
the loss and the gain which might both result to us 
from the sad event ; and, had this long continued, we 
should, doubtless, have lost the benefit designed for us 
in it. But, with me, this all passed away in the few 
hours which bore me from home to this place ; here I 
can do little else than think, though it adds painfully 
and wearingly to the constant employment which is 
allotted me. I hope you are afforded more time than 
then for contemplation, and are not only deriving pre- 
sent consolation, but acquiring permanent aid for fu» 
ture advancement. Two or three remembrances, to 
which I will only thus allude, are most distressing to 
me ; they have been great trials and hindrances to me, 
but I give them up now. One knows my heart and 
purposes ; One knows what they have fixedly been for 
several months ; and, whatever temptation may have 
done, knows that my brightest hopes, my dearest, 
happiest enjoyments, are drawn from the ' wells of 
salvation.' " 

''April 22. — -I am so tired and low-spirited just now 
that it will be almost in vain to attempt to cloak it 
from you. I know there is no real cause for depres- 
sion, but every thing quite the contrary^ and yet I am 



124 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



sad. I do wish I could see some of you. I long to 
lean my head upon some kind, sympathetic shoulder^ 
and . take one more sweet sleep ; — but O, I do not 
know that this can ever be again. I do not undervalue 
your affection when I say this ; but mother and I 
always felt so much alike; and, then, none can have 
the patience with this infirmity of nature so peculiar, 
I, believe, to me, which she ever had. How uncon- 
sciously dependent upon her I have been for sym- 
pathy and aflfection ; it is time that this should .be 
otherwise, and it must be so ; but it is a hard lesson. 
You must excuse me. I am selfish enough ; I have 
more, a great deal more affection from each of you 
than I deserve ; but I hope you will bear with mCy 
and I shall try to become more like you, perhaps, in 
those things in which I am in fault," 

The reader who has been afTectingly delighted with 
the inimitable lines of Cowper on the receipt of his 
mother's picture, will not be surprised to find that a 
heart so sensitive as that of our sister, should have 
been deeply moved on receiving from home a faithful 
miniature of her own departed mother. 

" May 2. — How much I do thank you for your 
undeserved kindness, I cannot, cannot tell you. I will 
only speak a moment of it. My heart is very grateful 
at all times for each one of you. It is very late ; I shall 
write again this week, and will tell you all I can think 
of which would interest you. The miniature I re- 
ceived last Monday. What shall I say ? I knew what 



HANNAH M, PICKARD. 



125 



it must be when placed in my hand, and lost all power 
to open it at first ; then I could never get ready. At 
last, I did so. Such moments are ^felt, not described.' 
And now the difficulty is to close it. I have set off to 
go up to school two or three times without it, but 
always returned back to take it. I cannot leave it, 
I was going to say what I thought of its likeness, but 
I believe this is enough. Give my love to Pamelia,* 
as earnestly as possible. 

" May 4. — The words of consolation which I have 
received from each in your kind letters, have not been 
in vain ; the pleasant smile w^hich seems to come upon 
her lips as I now look upon the dear picture, is not in 
vain. I can unite with you most sincerely in saying, 
I even prefer that it should be just as it is. That she 
is now for ever safe, for ever blest, fully satisfies me, 
although I cannot but mourn for ourselves. Yet with 
you, too, I can say, had I loved her less, I should now 
be without that composure of mind which renders 
mourning so much less bitter, by making me willing 
rather to bear the pain of the bereavement for the sake 
of her infinite and glorious ' gain.' O yes ! I wish I 
were not so selfish ; I know that you need consoling 
too, and yet I seem to think and write, expecting it at 
your hand ; and yet this is w^ell, w^e may be mutually 
the consoled and the consoler. 

*Miss Pamelia Hill, of Boston, whose successful pencil has 
earned for herself an enduring reputation as a skilful artist ; and 
whose delicate attention, and genuine social worth, were, by this 
beautiful tribute of affection, most sacredly endeared in the esti- 
mation of her grateful friend. 

11* 

I 



126 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



*'The thought of separating from you, my ever dear- 
est, earliest, tenderest friends, comes more vividly 
before my mind, it assumes more substance and painful 
reality than heretofore. I am glad mother is saved from 
the thought. Change and distance cannot affect our 
relation to her novv. But there is father ! and you, 
Emma ! and E. and the children ! a small company 
soon numbered, yet you have all my little stock of 
affection and happiness — all ! the rest is only hope. 
My kind and. honored father— but this will not do, 
yet expression is a sweet relief at times ; and you must 
forgive so much of it, — you know I have no other free 
opportunity but in addressing you. O, that I could 
see you ! " 

May 1, she writes to Mr. Pickard, "I place your 
last valuable communication before me ; I read again 
the considerate and sympathetic words indited by your 
kindness, and trace out to the Word of Life thoughts 
suggested by your remarks. I bow my spirit down 
before the mercy which gives such promises, such con- 
solations, and from such a source. How appropriate 
to turn from the valley of death to which we are come, 
to contemplations drawn from the word of life ; and, 
though with the tears which must fall over the new- 
made grave, to read the intelligence which has come 
to us through and beyond it by Christ, of the state of 
those who have found a welcome in that ' continuing 
city convincing us that from that ' secure abode,' 
they would not if they could, return to us, and en- 
abling us to say, in all the loneliness of bereavement, 
* we would not if we could, without sin, call them 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



127 



back to earth.' O no ! It is the will of the Lord — 
there is blessedness in the thought. It is safe to trust 
in the Lord. It is cheering to know by inward con- 
sciousness that in all things, in the alternations of joy 
and sorrow, of pleasure and pain, a Father's infinite 
love directs and guards. It is when I lose this realizing, 
filial confidence that I am cast down, and bitterly feel 
the weight of our late affliction. Such hours are fre- 
quent. During these few weeks past, although I cannot 
say that my confidence in God has failed, yet I have 
been almost destitute of joy in Him, with the exception 
of some instances in which my faith has testified that 
He has not forgotten to be gracious. My purposes 
are the same ; I must, I will seek to do His will, though 
it interrupt my most cherished wishes ; and I trust that 
He will give that grace by which I may do it, not from 
cold principle merely, but because it is more than my 
noeat and drink. 

I am grateful for your continued and increasing 
joy ; for the omens of good which are manifested 
where you have been so many months laboring, making 
the wilderness blossom around you. The idea which 
you gave me of the possible mode by which our friends 
in the other world may receive intelligence of us, is 
a very pleasant one, and interests me exceedingly. 
You will perceive how readily my somewhat visionary 
mind admitted it, when I tell you that, as I read the 
account of your meetings, with Christ in your midst, 
and of the numbers who seem to be listening to the 
call to be His disciples, and remembered the joy which 
there is in Heaven when one sinner repenteth, I 



128 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



thought such tidings must be entrusted to some swift 
messengers of Hght ; and my mind attempted to follow 
them as one after another they presented their reports 
before the Throne. For an instant I did imagine the 
anthem of praise which followed ; and I loved to think 
that, with peculiar joy, your blessed mother might then 
mingle her song with the innumerable company ; that, 
perhaps, it might not be without some former associa- 
tion, pleasant even there, that my mother would thus 
commence her strains of adoring praise. O, it was a 
happy moment, though imaginary, and left upon my 
mind a delightful impression that your name might 
thus become sweetly familiar in the ' presence of the 
angels ! " 

During the term she devoted herself most self-deny- 
ingly to the duties of the school ; she continued to 
feel a strong interest in the spiritual welfare of those 
around her ; and her mind and hands were still em- 
ployed in plans of benevolent action. The examination 
at the close of the term was unsurpassed by any pre- 
vious one in the beautiful decorations and successful 
recitations which her department presented ; and in- 
creased the regret which the officers and guardians of 
the school realized in being called to dissolve their 
connection with one who had brightened their social 
circle, as well as won increased popularity to the insti- 
tution under their care. This was the last term of 
Miss Thompson's connection with the Academy ; and 
it is just to say that in no previous one had she given 
more satisfactory proof of entire competency for her 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



129 



labors. She had exalted the station by her eminent 
qualities, and given an example of what a skilful and 
useful preceptress should be. Without offence, but 
with deepening impressions of her worth on the minds 
of all concerned, she had passed on from term to term, 
until it became a matter of anxious inquiry with the 
friends of the school, how her vacancy could be suitably 
supplied. As evidence in point, I quote from a letter 
received from one of the teachers, Br. Goodenow, who 
has been for many years connected with the Institution. 

I am much pleased with the idea of a Memoir of 
Miss Thompson, or rather Mrs. Pickard : I am quite 
partial to the old name. She was a lovely, refined 
and intelligent lady. As a Christian, she was devotedly 
pious and useful. As Preceptress of the Wesleyan 
Academy, she sustained a reputation that has never 
been excelled. And, finally, after she left, the impor- 
tance of securing her services was felt to be such, that 
our Principal took a journey to Boston to see if he 
could not procure them another term, even if her con- 
templated union with Mr. Pickard should thereby be 
deferred. If ever I thought it the duty of a lady to 
remain single a number of years for the good of a 
literary institution, she was that person. Her field 
of usefulness was large, and she improved it not only 
professionally but religiously." 

She felt, however, that this union ought not to be long 
deferred ; and that the situation of her father's family 
required her personal attention so long as she could be 



130 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



justified in postponing her marriage. She, therefore, 
bade adieu to the scene of her professional and Chris- 
tian labors, of her mental conflicts and religious joys, 
and to the circles of attached friends, and sought at 
home, by filial duty and afiection, to aid and comfort 
her surviving and honored parent. She now found 
herself invested with new cares and responsibilities. 
She had before enjoyed not only the presence, but the 
provident watchfulness, and judicious and affectionate 
converse of her beloved mother. Now she was called 
herself to superintend the domestic concerns of a large 
family, and to walk as nearly as possible in the remem- 
bered footsteps of her departed parent. This she did 
with the success attributable to a well-disciplined mind, 
and to an earnest attention to the voice of duty, and 
the leadings of Providence. The reader will be pleased 
to see recorded the impression which her appearance, 
at this time, made upon the mind of one of her early 
friends, who had had but one opportunity before this 
of seeing her, since she was a child. The writer is 
the Rev. C. Adams, whose sprightly account of her 
childhood is contained in the first chapter. He speaks 
of an interview with her after her final return home, in 
the following manner. 

It was my privilege to see your dear sister but 
once more. This was after she had retired from the 
Institution of which she had been so long a distinguish- 
ed ornament, and a few months previous to her mar- 
riage. Her mother, whom she so tenderly loved, was 
no more among the living ; and Hannah appeared to 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



131 



be occupying the position of directress of her father's 
house. I had now the opportunity of contemplating 
her under new aspects, and the impression left upon 
my mind from this interview was of a truly delightful 
character. Her whole appearance, at that time, was 
suited to aid such an impression. Her person was 
slender and graceful. In her countenance modesty 
and frankness were admirably combined, while cheer- 
fulness and sedateness, beautifully blended, gave to 
her general manners a charm which I never shall for- 
get. And there was an air of piety and devotion ac- 
companying her conversation that I had not noticed 
formerly ; and, withal, a delightful dignity and propri- 
ety attending all her movements, whether in the parlor 
or presiding at the table. In a word, I saw, in that 
remembered visit, what I deemed a fair and lovely 
specimen of a lady — a specimen marked by the ab- 
sence of scarcely a single desirable feature ; in whom 
were united, in chaste and delicious harmony, those 
graces and those virtues which are wont to adorn the 
excellent of this world. 

" But the scene is closed ! Hannah, the blooming, 
the amiable, the talented, the pious, has passed to her 
heavenly and eternal abode, leaving foot-prints, few, 
yet beautiful, ' on the sands of time.' Her memory is 
blessed. It is good that she was born. Mellow, sa- 
cred and happy was the influence which she breathed, 
and the sequel is everlasting life." 

She now looked forward with mingled emotions to 
the approaching period when she should enter that 



132 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



new and holy companionship, which death alone could 
dissolve. Her religious exercises are indicated, with 
some distinctness, in the following extract of a letter 
to Mr. Pickard ; and in this, and a subsequent one, 
she describes her varied emotions in view of the inter- 
esting event, and also her views of the responsibility 
which she should assume by becoming the wife of a 
minister of Christ. 

"Aug. 13, 1841. — Were I able to think of this, 
(event,) as perhaps so soon to be, without some pain, 
I do not know that I should be more deserving your 
esteem. The kind attentions of my good father, the 
society of my much-loved sister and her family, and 
my circle of partial friends, are all before my thoughts, 
and the question arises with new force. Can I leave 
them ? Were my emotions towards you of a doubtful 
character, I should even now decline, being unable to 
make the sacrifice necessary to so wide a separation — 
but I do not. Compelled to acknowledge the hand of 
Providence in our acquaintance thus far, and trusting 
in His promised favor, I am happy in my anticipations 
of the future, depending not for their realization upon 
external circumstances, but upon mutual affection and 
mutual devotedness to God. 

" Cumbered, as I now^ am, with much serving, and 
surrounded by the things seen, which so draw away 
the heart from the high purposes it may form, I am in 
danger of forgetting that it is not all of life to attend 
well to these, and often look with hope of better days 
to the time when I shall have your Christian aid. One 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



133 



not skilled in the knowledge of the windings of the 
heart, would wonder how, in a life of so little conse- 
quence to the world, discouragements should come of 
sufficient magnitude to interrupt a calm progress toward 
heaven ; but when I tell you that I seem to be making 
no attainments in holiness, you will pity the slothful- 
Hess which neither of us can for a moment extenuate. 
I have done almost nothing for Christ, and fear 1 shall 
always remain the most unprofitable servant whom His 
grace visits. Meanwhile, His name, and word, and 
cause are inexpressibly dear to me, and I would gladly 
lay at His feet an offering more worthy than any which 
I have hitherto presented. How poor should we be 
in the sight of Heaven, if Christ had not redeemed us ! 
I am not without confidence in Him, yet how much 
less is it than the infinite riches of His mercy would 
enable me to express. As my thoughts dwell here, my 
heart rejoices, and the insensibility with which earthly 
employments so successfully veiled these heavenly 
views from my apprehension, is partially withdrawn. 
/ can claim our Savior's merits, and, through Him, 
orace, providential guidance, and a share in every glo- 
rious hope. I will hope that I am not so much a 
stranger to His grace, or alien from his love, as I was 
just now fearing. 

"Sept. 10. — In the thought of so soon sacredly 
entrusting my all to you, I am happy ; my confidence 
and affection toward you waver not, and, were only 
my happiness at stake, I should not be found of you, 
as now I must, ' in weakness and in fear, and in much 
trembling,' relative to the future ; but as the time ap- 
12 



134 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



pr.oaches, difficulties appear to magnify, and it is hardly 
possible for me at any time to dismiss an oppressive 
timidity about rendering myself worthy of confidence 
from yourself and church, by a useful and blameless 
deportment. You will suffer me to tell this to you at 
this late hour of our acquaintance, because I doubt not 
your sympathy will much relieve my fears. I coukl 
never adopt the opinion of some individuals, that in 
such a relation to society, there are no more responsi- 
bilities than devolve upon other members of the com- 
munity ; that home may mark the extent of duty and 
effort. 1 could not satisfy myself with so circumscrib- 
ing these, and making no higher aspirations where so 
much seems to invite them. I have often set up a 
beau-ideal of a suitable character ; but O, it is not your 
friend H. M. T. To be able to discharge such duties, 
however our Father in heaven may choose to vary 
place or circumstances, would gratify my highest aim ; 
yet, withal, I fear I poorly understand them. Some- 
times I am much disheartened ; one thought encour- 
ages me — it is invaluable, and I would not exchange its 
steady light for all the self-confidence of vanity ; it is, 
that watchful Providence has led us on. He surely 
never appoints to any situation those whom He cannot 
make suitable to answer His designs ; there is, then, 
an open way to Him who ' giveth to all liberally.' " 

The day at length arrived when her union with Mr. 
Pickard was to be consummated. The marriage cere- 
mony was performed by the Rev. J. B. Husted, in the 
Bromfield Street Church, Boston, at four o'clock on the 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



135 



afternoon of Saturday, the second day of October, 
1841. Hasty gratulations of friends at her father's, 
occupied the brief interval in which she prepared to 
embark for her voyage to a land of strangers, hence- 
forth to be adopted as her home. They accordingly, 
soon after, went on board the steamer North America, 
and at 6 o'clock, left their moorings at the foot of Long 
wharf, and shaped their course for the city of St. John, 
N. B., in whose neighborhood Mr. Pickard was then 
appointed to preach. The wind, already boisterous 
when they left the wharf, increased very soon to a 
most furious and frightful gale, and lashed the ocean, 
darkened by the night and the thick and cloudy atmo- 
sphere, into angry, surging and foaming billows. The 
pilot wisely judged it necessary to safety to put into 
Portsmouth Harbor, where they rode out securely this 
protracted and dangerous storm, by which scores of 
unfortunate vessels were either stranded or ingulfed. 
At length, on Friday evening, they reached their des- 
tined port, amid thanksgivings and congratulations of 
friends for their safe arrival from the perils of the sea, 
and took up their abode in their pleasant, new home^ 
in Portland, a parish adjoining St. John. 



136 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



CHAPTER IX. 

Description of the city of St. John, and vicinity. Her voyage 
and reception. Private reflections. Grateful sentiments on 
"Thanksgiving-day." Sympathy for the poor. Attachment to 
old associations. Sketch of St. John. Tea Meeting, first in New 
England. Cause of her cordial welcome. Impressions relative 
to religious society. Pier devotion to God and zeal to do good. 

St. John is situated at the mouth of the river of the 
same name, and, owing to its location, is destined to 
become a place of extensive commerce. The river St. 
John, with its tributary streams, w-aters a large extent 
of country which depends on the city for its supphes of 
foreign commerce, and which yields, in return, timber 
and agricultural produce. All parts of the province 
are exceedingly well watered, but in no other are so 
many streams connected as in this. The main stream 
is a noble river, and extremely picturesque and dehght- 
ful, in its whole extent. For ten or twelve miles above 
the city the banks, which are composed principally of 
limestone, graywacke and granite, are very high and 
precipitous, the river apparently wearing its tortuous 
course among the hills. At that distance the bed of 
the river becomes more capacious, the shores receding 
on either side, and the view extending onward for 
twenty miles without obstruction. Then, in a narrower 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



137 



channel, it sweeps along by smiling villages, situated 
along its banks, on the interval, which, in the spring 
freshet, is completely inundated. In many cases, at 
such times, the only mode of passing from house to 
house is by boat. The inhabitants endure this annual 
submersion of their land, and inconvenient position of 
their houses, for the sake of the fertihty which the 
alluvial deposit communicates to the soil, by which 
they are enabled to reap most luxuriant crops of grass 
and grain. Just above the city St. John, the waters of 
these connected streams, coming, in all, the distance 
of a thousand miles or more, have apparently worn 
for themselves a new outlet to the sea through rocks 
of from thirty to sixty feet perpendicular elevation, 
which seem to stand aghast at the rushing and roaring 
torrent, as it rolls resistlessly onward to the ocean. Not 
only has the earth been washed away, but huge frag- 
ments of rock have been tumbled into the depths which, 
at low tide, form a majestic cataract, the immense mass 
of water not falling from a great height, but dashing 
and foaming over the rocky bed with tremendous 
energy. To span this tremendous chasm a suspension 
chain-bridge was once nearly completed, when it 
swung loose from its fastenings, and precipitated sev- 
eral workmen and others, sixty or seventy feet into the 
abyss of destruction. These Falls, of course, prevent 
the river navigation from reaching the wharves of the 
city, and occasion a portage of a mile or more from the 
basin above the Falls to the city below. 

St. John is sixty miles from Eastport, the nearest 
town on the coast belonging to the United States ; and 
12* 



138 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



is about thirty miles from Nova Scotia, on the opposite 
side of the Bay of Fandy. Its harbor is sufficiently 
capacious, and is safe ; and in this respect, it is as 
well situated as any place along the shore of the Bay, 
if not better. It is not at all probable that any other 
place in the province will compete with it in commer- 
cial advantages. It embraces a very enterprising and 
business-like community, which has shown itself pos- 
sessed of substantial means of prosperity in seasons of 
great calamity and embarrassment. It has risen with 
renewed energy from the ashes of desolating fires, and 
is nobly recovering from the overwhelming depressions 
which the manufacturing, the lumbering and commer- 
cial interests have suffered within eight or ten years 
past. It is the first landing-place of a great many 
Irisli emigrants, who, in due time, find their way to the 
States ; but who, while they remain, add a floating 
population which contribute nothing to the quiet, the 
reputation or the wealth of the city. The settled pop- 
ulation is about thirty thousand. 

The city presents a fine appearance, on sailing up 
the harbor. It is composed of irregular elevations, 
covered with private and public buildings, several of 
which are substantial structures of brick and stone. 
The city is founded upon rock, principally slate. The 
streets are mostly wide and regular, crossing each 
other at right angles; and are, many of them, cut 
through the solid rock, so that paving is unnecessary. 
There are fifteen places of worship, including three for 
the Methodists. 

On the side of the harbor opposite St. John, is the 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



139 



parish or town of Carleton ; and adjoining the city on 
the north, hes the parish of Portland, extending up 
the river to Indian Town, the landing place above the 
Falls, and including several steam mills in different 
locations. There are several large ship-yards in Port- 
land, most conveniently situated for the purpose. 
About three years ago a very elegant and commodious 
ship just ready for launching, built by Mr. John Owens, 
and valued at nearly fifty thousand dollars, was sud- 
denly consumed by fire, which spread to adjoining 
buildings and houses, and occasioned a great loss of 
property, and consequent distress among the destitute 
sufferers. Portland is built chiefly along the base of 
a limestone range, which, with its bald, ' rough brow, 
towers far above the humble dwellings* of the villagers. 
There are four places of worship, one of which belongs 
to the Methodists. It was in this village that Mr. 
Pickard had his appointment, when our sister left her 
beloved home to accompany him to new scenes in the 
land of her adoption. ' 

Her reception and situation in Portland and St. John 
will be most satisfactorily understood from the letters 
which she wrote to her friends, in which will also be 
found several characteristic incidents descriptive of the 
condition of the people and place where her lot was 
now cast. A few occasional notes in her journal will 
inform the reader of the state of her heart, and sug- 
gest the secret motives and feelings by which she was 
actuated in her present relations and duties. Portland 
is so directly connected with the city as to easily pass 
for a part of St. John, and this accounts for the use of 



140 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



several expressions in her letters and journal, in which 
she considers them as one. 

She thus writes to her father and sister, Oct, 10, 
1841 : 

How happy I am to sit down to hold communion 
with you once again after the few eventful past days; 
and yet I scarcely know where to begin, or what ex- 
pressions to use, most satisfactorily to meet the thousand 
inquiries which I know your intense interest would 
suggest, could we see each other eye to eye. But 
since we are so widely separated that your eager in- 
quiries cannot now reach me, I will talk awhile alone 
to you, and wait the necessary time for the most desired 
response from fou, my true-hearted, long-tried, affec- 
tionate friends. 

^' Having outrode the gloomy, perhaps, almost dan- 
gerous storm, I for the time forget, in the novel quiet 
of our own dwelling, those long days, which seemed 
neither day nor night, so sickening, so monotonous, in 
which we toiled against the head wind over the rough 
water, and turn, in vivid recollection, to the time when, 
with emotions not to be described, I felt the severance 
of my lot henceforth from yours, as the boat pushed 
from the wharf; and relying solely upon a chosen one, 
and upon One stronger than he, I could nevertheless 
but deeply feel that I was leaving home and most 
highly prized friends, whose partial regard of me was 
kinder than I ought to expect to find again with these 
strangers among whom I am to seek a new home and 
new friends. That hour is past, I see none of you ; 



HANNAH M. PICEARD. 



141 



but O, when shall I cease to dwell upon the remem- 
brance of you affectionately, as if I were continuing to 
experience the accustomed favors from you ? And, be 
assured, your remem!:rance of me — that kind of sen- 
timent which I know you will ever cherish, I shall 
always regard as among my best favors. 

" Friday noon we were greeted with a view of the 
city St. John, from a magnificent bay which seemed to 
extend and increase in beauty as we entered and passed 
across it. We were met on board the boat by one of 
the ministers of the society, who very cordially wel- 
comed me to the province, and next by Mr. Pickard's 
father. With but short delay from the inspection of 
custom house officers, we were soon within what is 
to be our home for the present. The part of the city 
where we are beginning to reside, is quite retired and 
country-like. A broad, and still brightly verdant slope 
before us to the bank of a small stream, separates us 
from the noise of the city. The houses around us are 
disconnected and agreeable ; the one we occupy is 
small but very convenient, it is neat and white, cotiage- 
form, with pretty entrance, and a long garden extend- 
ing in front with walk to the gate. We found it very 
comfortably and pleasantly arranged for our reception. 
We have a very kind and lady-like neighbor, (Mrs. 
Owens) with whom I am now quite well acquainted, 
and into whose garden, adjoining ours, I can run without 
a bonnet. We, that is, H. P., his father and myself, took 
tea with her the first evening of our arrival. They 
invited Mr. P. to remain with them till morning, but 
he declined, saying, he must ' take care of the chil- 



142 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



dren ' in their home. He welcomed me most affection- 
ately, and in our evening prayer commended me and 
us so thoughtfully and appropriately to God and His 
grace, that I could not but love him. 

"I suppose you w^ould be ready to ask me if I am 
happy. I cannot teli you in this poor letter ; I de- 
signed a better one, but owing to an engagement have 
greatly hurried it, and I must now close. In my next 
I will tell you of that, if 1 can express it. Please re- 
member me with all affection to the friends in B., to 
the members of our family severally." 

Oct. 16th, she makes the following private record. 

" Since permitted to make the above brief entry, the 
Providence of God has united indissolubly my present 
and future interests to the interests and care of another. 
The decisive words are spoken, the hour is past. I 
have pronounced the ' adieu ' to the endearing scenes 
of my former home. I have said 'farewell' to my 
tender father and sister ; and while a friendly gleam of 
late twilight lingered above my city-home, defining 
it distinctly to my eye when all other objects were 
shrouded in night, I began to feel that I was indeed 
separated from friends and delights most fondly cher- 
ished. I turned away and glanced upon the broad 
rough Waters — it was to me like that sea of life upon 
which I was now embarking ; yet I could calmly rely 
upon my chosen one, and upon One stronger than he, 
and be happy. 

"Now, O Thou upon whom our united faith would 
rest, and our supreme love more abundandy dwell, we 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



143 



turn to Thee, nor turn in vain. Thou alone art, and 
shalt be, the ground of our confidence for the present 
and the future. 'Our help and refuge is in God.' 
Thou hast, we feel that Thou hast given us to each 
other. O perfect that which concerneth us, and bless 
us that our affection for each other, our talents and 
the means of their improvement, our time and all, our 
* little all,' may be constantly and fully consecrated to 
Thee — that our hopes may ever meet in Thee, that 
our fears may ever subside at Thy feet, and that thus 
the hfe, so kindly blessed here in its earthly commence- 
ment, may be perpetuated and blissfully consummated 
where earthly Christian unions are spiritualized and 
refined, in those mansions prepared for Thy faithful 
followers. 

" Nov. 4. — Another month is begun. With the 
swiftly passing days, and increasing cares, we are has- 
tening on. Soon they will no more please or annoy 
us. Then let me be diligent, not with the hand that 
'maketh rich' in earthly stores, but with that which 
scattereth ' good to others, which wearieth not in well- 
doing. For this I may have care ; then, when the 
bread which perisheth shall fail to revive the fainting 
strength, and the shades of night can no more yield 
refreshing repose, then shall the ' Bread of Life ' be my 
portion, and my Rest shall be to live for ever in the 
presence of God." 

She again wrote to her Father, Nov. 9th. 
" I must not omit to remind you of me again this 
week, by communicating to you whatever I can sup- 



144 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



pose it would give you pleasure to know of your distant^ 
youngest, and, I may add, to you faithfully affectionate 
daughter. Although I feel the deepest interest in your 
daily affairs, and in all the minutige which may be af- 
fecting any of those whom I love so well in good old 
New-England, I yet, in thought, dwell much more 
upon my affection for them, which seems to kindle 
more brightly from separation so wide, and witfi much 
delight upon their testified and supposed affection for 
me. 

" Your last letter was very welcome, and the assur- 
ance of your continued fatherly remembrance, a true 
cordial ; while it always meets a lively return, I trust 
you will think me not undeserving. I must ever look 
towards you even from this far-off point, and towards 
your house, as still my home. Few, indeed, and far 
between must be my opportunities of testing the wel- 
come to it which you have so very kindly, and so re- 
peatedly promised me ; yet scarcely had your farewell 
voice ceased upon my ear, and the outHne of your 
figure quickly faded from my eye in the mists of that 
storm-gathering evening, when I had already com- 
menced to anticipate that welcome, as I should again 
find my way o'er the waters whose motion I had then 
hardly begun to feel upon my outward-bound course." 

Referring in the letter to the New-England Thanks- 
giving, which was to occur on the 25th of the month, 
she says, 

" I will not write or think of such occasions ; and 
yet there is pleasure in doing so while, as now, I am 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 145 

surrounded by every thing to make me happy. I shall 
remember you then, and though I cannot be one of 
your circle, I can unite with you all in the true senti- 
ment of the day. Should now and then a sad thought 
come to my mind, because I cannot take the wings of 
that morning, and greet you then, I can look around 
me and be most truly thankful. Have any cause for 
gratitude ? I more. Should any banish sad thoughts of 
friends afar? Let me, I must add, never indulge them. 
One is our keeper. One is our Savior, and one Home 
shall be ours at last with those w^ho have already left us. 
O when I remember this, I feel nearer to you, nearer 
to them ; and think it matter of little consequence that 
the brief period which remains to us should be all spent 
in the society of each other. Let us be where we can 
do the most to the glory of God ; then, when we shall 
have accomplished as a hireling our day, will we forget 
the temporary separation, and all these 'light afflic- 
tions ' of our way, in the possession of the glory to be 
revealed in us when we shall together be for ever with 
the Lord. I think the question which you proposed to 
me, whether I am happy, is answered ; but one thing 
is needful to make me pre-eminently so, and that is, a 
heart more constantly and devotedly given to the ser- 
vice of God. That I should prefer a residence in New- 
England, were this left me to choose, is certainly true ; 
but that I should prefer a residence here, could we be 
more useful than there, is as true. I hope I may ever 
maintain this power to choose, nor sin by wishing to 
step aside myself from the ways of Providence, or to 
withdraw another from steadily pursuing them. Only 
13 



146 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



let US have your prayers in love and faith that we may 
always be found in duty's course — that path of peace, 
and we know all will be well. I can ask these, too, 
from each of you as a matter of debt, so often are you 
remembered at our family altar ; and, perhaps, you 
may sometimes, I have imagined, receive additional 
blessings in consequence of petitions to which I have 
listened in your behalf, from hearts and lips wholly 
strangers to you." 

Nov. 25th, she writes in her journal, " O Lord, ' how 
do thy mercies close me round!' Yet, O, what an 
unprofitable pensioner am I upon that bountiful Friend 
who daily crowneth my life with loving kindness and 
tender mercies ! How does my precious time flit away, 
and my good resolutions sink forgotten to the dust ! 
Lord, help me to arise, to overcome the hindrances 
which my human nature would cast in my way ; and, 
while my soul looks up to Thee for aid, O give more 
of Thy divine nature — even grace for grace, until I 
shall perfectly serve Thee. The abodes of poverty 
and spiritual darkness are around us. I would fain 
cheer and encourage their wretched inmates. O Thou 
whose blessing maketh rich and addeth no sorrow, 
again I beseech Thee, ' help me ' — go with me, and 
let Thy wisdom, through me, console and assist them, 
let Thy spirit of love inspire me to cheer by kind words 
the desponding. Freely I have received, freely would 
I give. 

" This lovely morn brings to happy New-England 
the return of their annual festival, ' Thanksgiving day.' 



HANNAH M. PICK ARB. 



147 



How delightful, yet sad, are the ' thick coming fancies ' 
which are called up as memory walks backward through 
the chequered past — my dear, dear home of other days, 
lightened by the presence of my father and my mother. 
My mother — I pause upon that sweet word — my 
mother — her voice seems to fancy's ear to reply, and 
her dear form stands quick before me. Thanks un- 
numbered be to Him who entrusted the dawn of my 
being to her judicious management, and tenderly affec- 
tionate care. How constantly did she seek to eradicate 
from my heart and mind the roots of bitterness, and 
every seed of springing ill ; how* untiring were her ef- 
forts to lead my spirit upward to its pure Author, and 
ta encourage the commencings of every good, though 
feeble aim ; and now she is gone to her rest from every 
labor. Since the last anniversary of harvest gratitude, 
sliG has been gathered in — ■ not taken from hfe in an- 
ger, and by an avenging stroke — but called home from 
her finished work by our Father's voice of love. She 
knew His voice, and responding sweetly ' iVil is well,' 
followed through the valley His kind bidding. From 
its painful passage, she shrank not, nor murmured ; but 
as she gained the farthest side, and was just entering 
into the joy of her Lord, no words from her lips could 
reach us, but we knew^ that the pearly gates were open- 
ing — one full glance of rapture from her eye lighted 
upon us, a radiant smile rested upon her countenance, 
and we saw her no more. She for ever with the 
Lord. Well may we remember her on Thanksgiving 
day. Well may gratitude ever take the lead of all 
other deep-stirred emotions, when we think assuredly 



148 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



that she is so safe in her blissful possessions. My dear, 
own, only sister, could we now meet in that room so 
consecrated to her memory, so inestimably associated 
with her presence, how should we remember her? ' In 
silence and tears' — yet should we thank her memory 
for the tender love to each other which she taught us, 
and for the deep love to her, unchecked by death, 
which her ever disinterested affection for us inspired in 
our bosoms." 

As intimated in the above extract, her sensitive heart 
was deeply affected by the poverty and misery which 
prevailed, this season, among the emigrants and others? 
in Portland, and in St. John. An unusually large 
number of emigrants remained over the winter, and 
such w^as the commercial distress, the severe cold, and 
the consequent want of employment, that the exercise 
of Christian charity and benevolence vras in large de- 
mand. Nor was it withheld ; but many a substantial 
act of kindness was performed by Christian families. 
Mrs. Pickard took a lively and active interest in the 
condition of the poor, and, as she had opportunity, vis- 
ited their habitations to encourage and aid them. It 
was in the course of these visits that she became ac~ 
quainted with the incidents which she afterwards so 
well described in one of the narratives rn the Widow's 
Jewels." She endeavored to make these visits profita- 
ble not only to the body, but also to the soul, and en- 
tered into the most familiar and earnest conversation 
with those she visited, on their spiritual concerns« 
There was a humility and a winning grace in her man* 



HANNAH M. PIGKARD. 



149 



ners and intercourse, which inspired respect, confidence 
and affection in all who enjoyed her society, and which 
rendered her peculiarly useful in visiting the abodes of 
want and suffering. Her courteousness led her easily 
to adapt herself to persons in all conditions of society, 
and her attention to the destitute and afflicted, was not 
so much the effect of cold principle, as the warm dic- 
tate of the heart. She possessed a very tender regard 
for children, and attached them to herself by the kind- 
ness of her spirit, and the ease and gentleness of her 
conversation. 

The following extract from a letter to Miss Hill, u 
particular friend of hers, whose name has already been 
mentioned, will be perused with interest for its descrip- 
tive passages, the evident fidelity of her affectionate 
attachment to former associations, and the suggestion 
of a method of practical benevolence, which has since, 
as the result, been extensively adopted in New-Eng- 
land. 

" Nov. 26, 1841. — Dear Pamelia, — I have been 
delaying from day to day to avail myself of the privi- 
lege of writing to you, until from some occurrences 
out of the pale of our affairs, I could be able to borrow 
something for your special gratification. And now al- 
though such materials may not be so rare but that I 
could well fill the sheet with them, yet my heart inclines 
me not to depend upon these so much as upon our joint 
stock of 'mutual interest and assurance,' which has 
heretofore 50 readily answered my frequent large de- 
mandsi How many delightful remembrances crowd 
13* 



150 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



into my mind as I begin to write ! I can scarcely re- 
frain from dropping my pen, and yielding myself up to 
the exclusive enjoyment of these ' thick-coming fancies/ 
The last month of our association — but it can never 
return ; w^ell remembered by me are its hours of pleas- 
ure and of sadness, w^hich you so well appreciated as 
skilfully to contribute to enhance the one, and relieve 
the other ; but my pen must not ramble among them. 
There are, beside these, hours of most high . and sacred 
emotions in which we have been together — in years 
past some, and others — O, of how deep interest — with- 
in the few brief months just gone by. My mother — 
when can I forget those scenes, though I should be 
for ever removed from the localities thus endeared to 
me, or ever forget you, our friend, whose considerate 
attentions must leave, and have left, so deep a trace 
upon my heart. 

" But I must turn the current of my thoughts, and 
try if my pen can be sufficiently graphic to give you 
some idea of our city. St. John, then, shall now be 
the home of my thoughts, and it is to me really a 
pleasant one. I do not mean that the town, in itself 
considered, is, on all accounts, the most to be desired 
as a place of residence. It has many advantages, but 
the change which is so apparent to me, from the hand- 
some, clean streets of Boston, is not calculated to ren- 
der it altogether pleasing to my eye or foot. Yet it is 
but sixty years since the first settlements were here 
' founded upon the rock,' for this is literally true of the 
whole city. Almost every cellar is an excavation, and 
the streets are, many of them, levelled, with immense 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



151 



expense and labor, through the soUd rock. Its location 
is certainly one of the very best ; rising commandingly 
from the bosom of a broad, open bay, at the mouth 
too of the noble river St. John, and attended on either 
side by hills of considerable and sudden elevation, it 
presents a scene of natural grandeur, worthy indeed 
the signature of royalty : doubtless when sixty years 
more shall have passed away, this Gibraltar will bear 
favorable comparison with the chosen parts of Boston, 
as they now appear. When the still, warm days have 
come, we have had some drives about, and I think I 
was never permitted to gaze upon scenery so delight- 
ful, (with one or two exceptions,) from the lovely and 
level, to the cragged and sublime, varying with every 
turn, and interesting in every ch'ange — presenting a 
subject for a painter's skill, wherever the eye rests. 
You must come, and look, and enjoy for yourself, and 
we will make pictures once again together. 

" But where every thing is so engaging in the fea- 
tures of the landscape, there are characteristics of 
gloomy aspect, which cannot fail to attract the notice 
of any one interested in studying the lights and shadows 
of life, as they are presented in so mingled a commu- 
nity. Poverty and apparent wretchedness are to be 
constantly met, and that train of evils which follow in 
the footsteps of intemperance. The courage of benev- 
olence itself might almost fail, so little can be done, 
seemingly, to relieve the ceaseless demands of poor 
human nature. The evident spiritual poverty and 
darkness are the most to be commiserated. 

How are you doing in the operations of our Friend- 



152 



MEMOIR OF MRS* 



ly. Society?* How are the funds? (I suppose you 
will allow me still to say our Society, at least so long 
as your records preserve the name of * H. M. Thomp- 
son ' from oblivion.) I thought of its interests at the 
Tea Meeting which ' came off ' this week, on Tuesday 
eve, after some postponement. I could say much in 
commendation of it, and think it would be well to in- 
graft it among the benevolent schemes of which New- 
England is so fruitful. Tables were prepared in the 
spacious vestry of one of the Methodist Chapels, for 
about six hundred people, and they were well filled. 
Fifty ladies, each of whom supplied her division of the 
table, had the oversight and courtesies to attend to — 
tea-pouring, et cetera. By an arrangement of the com- 
mittee, all cakes and*sweetmeats were contraband, and 
should any appear upon any table, it was immediately 
to be treated as such — - consequently, good tea, good 
bread and butter, tea-crackers and cheese were abun- 
dant, and invitingly served up. The company of la- 
dies and gentlemen assembled at six o'clock, and were 
seated at the tables ; a chapter was then read from the 
Bible by the Chairman of the District, followed by sing- 
ing, and a short prayer, whew tea and conversation 
were animatingly circulated. This over, we had again 
singing and prayer, then addresses from several clergy- 
men; and before ten o'clock, all had retired to their 

* This is an association of ladies, connected with the Bromfield 
street Church, Boston, who collect money, and meet to sew, for 
the poor. It has imparted much relief and comfort to the destitute. 
The first Tea-Meeting held in JSew-England, was held by, and in 
behalf of this society. It was a plain and simple repast, connected 
with religious services and addresses. 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 153 

homes. Such an interview would be well adapted to 
the social people of Boston, and I should like to have 
you make the experiment in behalf of the Friendly So- 
ciety. The tickets were readily disposed of, at half-a- 
dollar each, and a pretty good sum thus agreeably raised 
for a worthy design. The gayest and the gravest 
seemed to be enjoying real pleasure from a socially re- 
ligious source. All seemed cheerful, notwithstanding 
the recent sad cause of the postponement of the occa- 
sion — that scourge of St. John — the devastating fire, 
which, in a few brief hours, so relentlessly ' licked up' 
the fortunes of some of its enterprising citizens, as left 
too melancholy a shade of feeling upon the whole com- 
munity, to allow them to participate in the scene of 
rehgious festivity which was to be offered them the 
next day. 

" I thought of you on that dreadful night as I gazed 
upon the painfully sublime scene before me at the 
window. The whole surrounding country was pre- 
sented in fearful light and shade by the costly glare; 
the clouds and water gleamed in the red reflection, the 
distant trees and masts appeared as if edged with lines 
of living light, while the desolating flames darted 
amid the huge volume of smoke, which continually 
rolled upward from the devoted spot. Myriads of 
sparks and blazing fragments, continually ascending, 
were borne off* against the dark blue sky, contrasting 
strangely with the calm, clear stars seen through them, 
as they again slowly descended in their threatening 
showers. I thought of you and of every one whom I 
much loved. 



154 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



"Of my dear, good father and beloved sister, I 
have said but little. I cannot indite a message of 
affection sufficiently longing for them. You cannot 
conceive with what tenderness of love my heart turns 
towards them, across the space which must ever divide 
us. To yourself, dear Pamelia, almost my sister, I 
need riiake no protestations of regard." Please remem- 
ber me to ' cousin ' Catharine.* She is, I am sure, 
one of the few best spirits which we have. 

St. John, they say, is a cold place, and so I am 
beginning to think, but St. John's citizens are a w^arm- 
hearted folk, as I have from the beginning felt. Not 
an eye has been turned upon me with any other than 
a kind expression, and my ' introductions' have almost 
invariably been accompanied with some cordially 
vi^orded welcome to the Province. I attribute this not 
to any liking which I am capable of inspiring, but, to 
what I shall be excused for saying to you, the very high 
estimation which they have for the one with whom 
they find me." 

The manner of her reception among the people of 
the Province was a matter that interested her particular 
attention, as her native delicacy led her to shrink from 
the curious eye of strangers, and especially as she ap- 
prehended some discomfort from the natural prejudice 

* Miss Catharine Patten, eldest daughter of Mr. Thomas Patten, of 
Boston, who has now joined our glorified sister in the world of 
light and love. " The memory of the just is blessed." 

" Calm on the bosom of thy God, 
Sweet spirit, rest thee now." 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



155 



which might be likely to exist towards an '' American." 
But prejudice, from the first, seemed to be disarmed 
respecting her. This was owing not merely to her 
union with a highly esteemed minister, but to the 
intrinsic excellences of her mind and heart — -the sen- 
sibility and genius, the unaffected humility, the disin- 
terested friendliness, the native urbanity, which adorned 
her character, and wer€ manifested in all her social 
intercouse. 

In a letter to her sister, dated Nov. 29, she thus de- 
scribes her impressions relative to the state of religious 
society. 

" With the economy of the Methodist societies here 
I am, on the whole, better pleased than with their pres- 
ent state and regulations in New-England. Of course, 
every thing here is yet new to me, and I may be less 
pleased when knowing more of the system. I cannot 
afford to occupy the limited space remaining to me, 
with a detail of the difference between the two. I 
think Methodism has not to contest its way to a rank 
with other denominations as in the states. The 
'Church,' of course, stands alone, in lofty, unyielding 
pre-eminence above all. You cannot imagine the dis- 
tance which divides them. One would never suppose 
they were travellers to the same place ; and when ar- 
riving at the end of life's short journey, they cannot 
even make their graves by those who were worshippers 
in 'chapels.' There is nothing in the States to com- 
pare with it. Tn the Methodist chapels we have two 
services on the Sabbath, one at eleven and one at six 



156 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



o'clock. I do not know how much the time may vary 
from yours, I think it is about twenty minutes earlier 
here ; so I always suppose us as going to church or 
chapel, (no one speaks of going to church, except to 
the ' Established Church,') together in the morning. 
Last evening was a sacramental occasion, to me it was 
most interesting, aside from the delightful emotions 
experienced by me before on such occasions ; there was 
something to my mind pecuHarly appropriate and solemn 
in the hour. ' Now when the even was come, he sat 
down with the twelve, and as they did eat,' were words 
presented to my mind ; it was easy to send the thoughts 
back to that night, and to realize its wonderful scenes." 

The following passages from her journal will close 
the chapter, and the year, and will leave her in a state 
of earnest longing for more religion, and in the exercise 
of active zeal to do good to her fellow-men. 

"Nov. 30. — This morning I would bow my spirit 
down in humility before the Lord. ' The Lord gra- 
cious and merciful, forgiving iniquity, transgression and 
sin,' I know he styles himself ; but O, I am so unwor- 
thy, have allowed my heart to become so cold, and sin 
to again acquire such dominion over me, that I can only 
cry before Him, ' unclean, unclean.' For two days 
past my mind has been more strongly exercised with 
desires to be wholly consecrated to the blessed will and 
service of God. At times my heart, grateful for this 
renewed invitation of his slighted grace, has gladly 
responded, ' I will be Thine. Here, Lord, 1 give myself 



HANNAH M. PICKARB. 



157 



away to Thee ; ' but at other times there seems to be 
a hanging back from full surrender. I desire nothing 
on earth which I think ever would be in opposition to 
His will, but yet I do feel that I am not wholly His. O, 
have I feared to see an enemy within, and thus per- 
formed a careless search ? or do T really cling to earthly 
good ? O God, do show me, nor let me deceive myself, 
or seek to deceive Thee. Most solemnly would I now, 
in true sincerity, approach to Thee. Humbled by a 
consciousness of my sinfulness, I own myself without 
a shadow of claim to Thy favor, or one grace to ensure 
Thy love. I deserve only Thy righteous displeasure, 
and to be for ever cut off from communion with Thee 
and with those who love Thee. I am indeed a wretch, 
but Christ has died ! O, in this name, which is above 
every name, I trust, while I attempt to draw near to 
the living God, and covenant for His grace. 

" O God, I have seen Thy dealings with Thy people, 
that not many wise or mighty are called ; that the 
sacrifice of all things Thou requirest freely to be made 
for Thy sake ; that steadiness of self-denial must per- 
severingly be their exercise. And I know, too, the 
riches of grace which are their ' reward in secret ' from 
Thy hand ; I have tasted Thy goodness, and have fol- 
lowed Thee in the green pastures, and by the still 
waters, and have felt there the light of Thy counte- 
nance. These have I known, and, therefore, I choose 
rather to 'suffer affliction with the people of God, than 
to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season.' O, I choose 
Christ with the cross, and gladly give up all beside. 
Help me, while I subscribe with my hand to the 
14 



158 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



Almighty. Only aid me that my will may be lost in 
Thine ; that my thoughts and words may be in obe- 
dience to Thee ; that every act may be performed as 
in Thy holy presence, and with strict reference to Thy 
glory ; that this desire for Thy glory may at all times 
rule and reign in me ; and I will follow Thee. O 
these, Thou knowest, are not idle words — they are 
from Thy Spirit, and I must meet the record of them 
before Thy Throne, in the hour of my judgment. Great 
God, be Thou my helper. Thou hast said, ' Yea, I 
will help thee.' O, may I not now claim this promise 
in Christ Jesus ? I must, I do. 

' Wash me, and make me thus Thine own, 
Wash me, and mine Thou art.' 

Even now I am not without some beams of joy. I 
do, I dare believe. I do feel a sweet spirit of conse- 
cration now resting upon me, like being in some newly 
purified atmosphere ; but O, I almost fear to move, lest 
I should remove from this sweet state — lest the ap- 
pearance of other scenes, and returning thoughts of 
earth-born interests, should drive away these dove-like 
visits of the Spirit. ' Into Thy hands I commend my 
spirit.' 

"Sabbath, Dec. 13. — I have still to record, O 
' my leanness ! my leanness ! ' When shall I be faithful 
in all things to Him who gave Himself for me ! O 
how ungrateful ! I am amazed at my stupidity, my 
want of love, while so surrounded with His rich mer- 
cies. Surely none are so unworthy ; none so little 
improve the grace given. Yet shall my pen record 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



159 



His goodness. He has borne with my sinfulness ; and, 
not only spares a life which brings so little glory to 
His name, but he has, at times, visited me with the 
sweet peace-imparting influences of His Spirit. O, I 
long to love Him as I should ; I long to serve Him 
with all m,y heart, in every thought, and word and act. 
Once again I renew my covenant with God to do His 
will, and to seek that state of mind in which, freed 
from these distressing temptations, I shall know but 
one desire — -to please God; but one fear, the fear of 
offending Him ; but one trust, a trust in Jesus. 

"Dec. 15. — ^My heart is grateful in some degree 
this morning for the blessings of God, yet this is but 
the enkindling of an emotion which should for ever 
live and glow in my bosom. In all my daily paths I 
meet with those who seem to have no knowledge of 
the Savior, and no desire for His ways. Iniquity truly 
abounds, and this, too, at a season when men should 
surely learn and feel their dependence upon the mercy 
of one who supplies the needy. Sin finds faithful sub- 
jects among those who are friendless and destitute, and 
who, of all others, need the consolations of communion 
with God — the one who, 

' above all others, 
Well deserves the name of Friend.' 

O would that I could do something to relieve the wants 
of those wretched beings who are not only without 
earthly comforts, but who are also without Christ ; but 
ignorance and superstition have so blinded their eyes in 
many instances, that it is hard, indeed^ to present to 



160 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



their capacity of perception the glory and fitness of re- 
ligion. May God enable me to attempt their relief, and 
to persevere in efforts for this, and to Him shall be the 
glory. 

" Yesterday I visited a family who are in want of 
almost all the comforts of life, but who are yet blessed 
daily with a portion of the bread which cometh down 
from Heaven. Neatness, peace and gratitude seemed 
to throw a smiling aspect even upon the rough walls 
O'f their only apartment. Gratitude beamed in the 
eye of the mother as she spoke of the goodness of 
God to them. Five little boys were around her; the 
eldest, about six years of age, as I entered the room, 
turned to the window and stood, occasionally casting 
upon me a diffident smile. I extended my hand, and 
coaxed him to me; his little brother soon joined hifriy 
and as I talked to them a moment of the love of the 
Savior, I was pleased to see their eyes moistened with 
tears. Two other little boys, twins, were sitting lov- 
ingly together, and the youngest, who has been long 
sick, was in his mother's arms. It was poverty without 
its sting — sin. 'The blessing of the Lord maketh 
rich, and He addeth no sorrow with it.' How much 
less happiness may sometimes be found in the abodes 
where wealth pours its abundance. Blessed are the 
poor, who have a right by faith to the kingdom of 
Heaven. Blessed are the rich when their gold is laid 
upon the altar which sanctifieth it, and their hearts are 
with an enduring treasure in Heaven. In every con- 
dition of life there is a sting — in all it is the same — 
sin — sin I But ' thanks be to God who giveth the 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



161 



victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.' This morning 
I witnessed a different scene — a Httle family of five, 
distressed indeed with poverty, but where a want of 
love to God had brought all other evils in its train. 
The father, a wicked man, had secretly left the country, 
and his wife and four infants were without food or 
clothing. They have been supplied with some articles 
by persons who understood their wants." 



14* 



162 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



CHAPTER X. 

Description of Fredericton. Mrs. Pickard's visit there. Acci- • 
cident in returning. Danger from fire. The Indian Basket 
Maker. Anniversary of her mother's death. Wesleyan customs. 
Visit to Boston and Chelsea. Conjugal affection. Fidelity to 
duty. Nestorian Missionary and Bishop. Various extracts. 
Visit of Mr. Pickard. Reflections on his return. Birth of a 
Son. Anniversary of her marriage. Return to St. John. 

In the latter part of January, 1842, Mrs. Pickard 
made a visit with her husband among his relatives in 
Fredericton, where he was born. Fredericton is the 
seat of government of the province. Here the As- 
sembly, the Legislative and Executive councils meet, 
and the Governor General resides ^ — his house most 
delightfully situated near the river, and a little above 
the town. This is also the residence of the Bishop 
of New-Brunswick, lately appointed by the Queen, 
The Episcopal College occupies a very eligible and 
conspicuous location on the side-hill in the rear of the 
town, which, of course, it overlooks, as also the river 
for about ten miles towards St. John. The Baptists 
have also a literary seminary. There is a flourishing 
Methodist Society, with a fine chapel. Beside this, the 
Roman Catholics, the Episcopalians, the Presbyterians 
and the Baptists, have places of worship. The town 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



163 



contains about three thousand inhabitants. It is most 
charmingly situated on ahiiost a completely semi-circu- 
lar bend of the river St. John, which is here about three 
quarters of a mile wide. The land is here entirely level, 
and at the widest point extends half a mile from the 
river to a straight range of hills, which seems like the 
chord of an arc drawn across from one end of the seg- 
ment to the other, a mile and a half or two miles in 
length. The streets of the town, mostly macadamized 
and of good breadth, are straight and laid out at right 
angles. The soil of this interval or plain is fertile, and 
will yield abundantly to the hand of judicious cultiva- 
tion ; and the hill-side would afford magnificent sites for 
villas and gardens. Fredericton will not be a great 
place for trade and commerce, but it must be a charm- 
ing resort for men of wealth and taste, who will lay 
out expense enough to adorn a situation capable of 
being made a very gem of oppidan beauty. It is 
eighty-five miles distant from the city St. John, by wa- 
ter, and the sail up and down the river is very speedy 
and pleasant, in the good steamers which ply between 
the two places. The ride, too, along the margin of 
the stream, at times turning off into the wooded coun- 
try, and occasionally rising over hills commanding 
I extensive views of land and water, is enchanting in 
j the season of rural verdure. The journey which Mr. 
and Mrs. Pickard took, was performed by sleighing in 
the depth of winter. 

Mr. Pickard, after attending the Missionary meetings 
which called him from home, returned in a week to 
his duties at Portland, leaving Mrs. Pickard to complete 

i 



164 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



her visit, which, as she had anticipated, was very 
agreeable to her, as she met with a cordial and affec- 
tionate reception among all his friends. They became 
endeared to her remembrance, as she also did to theirs ; 
and their tender sentiment respecting her still remains, 
though the loved object which inspired it no longer 
needs nor shares its kindly influence. On her return 
to Portland, she experienced a narrow escape from 
imminent danger to her hfe, though not without severe 
injury. Her account of this journey, as also of a sub- 
sequent instance of Providential care, will be found in 
the letter below, directed to her sister. The reader 
will not be displeased with the incident of the Indian 
woman, related particularly for her sister's children. 

''Feb. 25, 1842. Dear, dear Sister.— My heart 
says, O that I could see you this afternoon ! Always 
longing for this, during a little while past I have been 
almost ready to take wings, and fly away to your ' nest ' 
in Chelsea ; but, had this been practicable at the best 
of times, while the desire has been strongest I could 
not make the attempt, for sickness has dipt my wings. 
Pain and inflammation in a few hours brought me low, 
and the physician's medicines and lancet kept me so, 
until now, at the close of the twelfth day, I summon 
force enough to commence the report so long due. 
Well knowing the wakefulness of your sympathy and 
foreboding anxiety, I am happy to assure you that I 
shall doubtless soon be wholly recovered ; so dismiss 
all fears for me, and I will tell you something of the 
cause of my illness. 



HANNAH M. PICKAKD. 



165 



^•'After having very happily passed the short week 
allotted for our visit at Fredericton, Mr. P.'s duties 
here required him to return, but I tarried behind. 
When at the expiration of another week an opportu- 
tunity occurred for me to return, under the conduct of 
a friend, we set out, six in all, beside the driver. For 
a few miles we had good sleighing, and came on very 
pleasantly, but the snow gradually disappeared with 
the miles, and the roads being very bad, we had soon 
to exchange our comfortable stage-sleigh, for a large 
open wagon, into which we were packed with consid- 
erable baggage. We toiled on the remaining sixty 
miles, over icy, precipitous roads, wild as nature formed 
them, while here and there a small log house, with the 
blackened stumps and soil around it, or perhaps a sol- 
itary cow who stood considering the barren scene, was 
the only evidence that we were not alone in all the 
circuit of our vision. I am not given to fear when 
travelling, but I confess I did not find myself free from 
it at this time. Tilted up upon the middle seat, which 
was elevated above its level by a huge trunk under- 
neath, and supporting my constantly shifting centre of 
gravity, by a handkerchief noosed about the front seat, 
I continually cast a searching glance before and around 
the wheels, almost giving myself up to the probability 
of a launch off some steep descent, or among the 
rocks or stumps which lay beside our track. But as 
the day wore away I became more accustomed to the 
new situation, and, entertained by our intelligent trav- 
elling companions, I was losing my fear, when suddenly 
the horses cleared entirely from the wagon, through 



166 . MEMOIR OF MRS. 



some failure in the apparatus which secures the traces, 
and the wagon instantly rolled off a side hill, and upset 
among some logs and stumps. All were thrown out 
but myself. I was thrown across the front seat in such 
a manner as to occasion some slight internal injury,* 
resulting in my present indisposition. Kind Provi- 
dence preserved us, and none were seriously injured, 
though the danger appeared to be imminent. As one 
by one the company picked themselves up, and came 
forward to our somewhat mutilated vehicle, we pre- 
sented rather a forlorn aspect ; we could not find much 
remembrance of the moment — I only know that I 
involuntarily clung to the wreck. 

" No help could be obtained to repair the wagon, or 
to procure other conveyance ; so, carefully and trem- 
blingly we took the only alternative, and bestowed 
ourselves upon our seats, and, with new apprehension 
came slowly on our way, watching one of the forward 
wheels which rolled, like a drunken man, on its axis. 
My fright was so great, that I was not, at the time, 
aware of any pain or injury, although a little after 
conscious of faintness, which I attributed then to fear. 
You would have been amused at my nervous folly du- 
ring the few miles remaining — I could not throw it off 
although I was ashamed. When we came to the 
Ferry, which separated us from the city, the steamer 
was aground ; therefore we must wait until nine or ten 
in the evening, or leave our baggage and cross in a 

* The injury which she represents as slight, was greater than 
she allowed, as her husband thinks it probable that she never fully 
recovered from it. 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 167 



small boat. All seemed to prefer this, so I, being the 
only lady, said nothing, but followed. The last rays 
of twilight were just lingering on the wide, dark wa- 
ters : and as I stood upon the landing, and looked 
down a steep flight of some twenty steps, to the little 
boat, scarcely distinguishable, I made a sudden halt. 
Our Dr. G. whose arm I had, looked at me n sur- 
prise — ' Can you swim, Dr.? ' I asked. I felt ashamed, 
and he laughed at the explanation which my question 
gave. A poor little Irish girl, in a calico dress, and 
small cotton shawl, who had just stepped up, wishing to 
cross with us, looked up very composedly, and said it 
would be a ' cold night to he upset.'' To gain the 
stairs of the opposite landing we had to pass close 
under the bow of a steamboat moored, whose ma- 
chinery clinked sharply as we rowed across its shadow, 
keeping my heart in lively motion. Truly thankful 
was I, and found it pleasure enough for the moment, 
when, standing on the wharf, I fully realized that I 
was neither in a skimming-boat nor a wagon tottering 
to its fall. No carriage was to be obtained ; so, bur- 
ihened with clothes, and trembhng with excitement, I 
made my way towards home, where, after a long walk, 
I found a hearty welcome, and dropped down into the 
rocking chair awaiting me before a cheerful fire, to 
relate the tale of my adventures while the thoughtfully 
ordered coffee was preparing." 

Her husband states that she " was reluctant to ac- 
i knowledge that she had suffered seriously, either from 
I fatigue, accident, or exposure, and succeeded in keep- 



168 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



ing up and attending to her ordinary duties three or 
four days. She then became very seriously ill, but 
was saved from the ill consequences v^'hich, for a time, 
were feared by her medical attendant, and soon so far 
recovered as to be able to attend with apparent com- 
fort to her domestic concerns. In the course of her 
sickness she was providentially preserved from destruc- 
tion by fire." 

Having escaped the water," she says, ''I was well 
nigh destroyed by fire. Awaking one night almost suf- 
focated with smoke, 1 started up, and threw open the 
bed clothes, and discovered that a flannel bag of heated 
hops and bran, which the nurse had placed at my side 
in the evening, (and in which, probably, a spark had 
secretly lodged,) was burned to cinders. The smoke 
rose thick and high from the burning bed and clothes ; 
my own clothes also were very much burned. I im- 
mediately drew the counterpane and blankets from 
every corner, and, pressing them down about myself 
and my warm neighborhood, called loudly for help. 
The nurse, who was with me, was so stupefied that it 
seemed long before she could be made to comprehend 
that there was fire in the bed, and that I was not 
dreaming. Mr. P. hearing the bustle above stairs, and 
perceiving the smoke, came to our aid, and succeeded 
in extinguishing the fire, though it was long after order 
was restored, that composure so subdued our agitated 
nerves, as to allow us to sleep. 

"I do wish I could once more see Edward and 
Francis — I could give them a hug and a kiss not to 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 169 

be forgotten in an hour. Tell me something in your 
next about them ; some word they must each send to 
me. I was thinking of Edward the other day, when 
I had some visiters whom he would have been pleased 
to see. I imagine him now standing by you, perhaps * 
old Franky too, while I tell them something about it. 
It had rained ail night, and was raining all the forenoon 
with great drops thick and fast, so that the streets were 
full of mud and water, and scarcely any body could be 
out. I was sitting alone, sewing by the fire, when I 
heard some heavy steps upon the gravel-walk in our 
yard, then upon the steps leading to the door, and then 
a loud knock. I went to the door, and there stood a 
poor Indian woman with her pappoose — a little girl 
seven or eight years old — and an equally privileged 
dog. They were drenched with rain, and the woman's 
long, black hair hung in stiff, wet locks upon her 
shoulders. Upon her back she had fastened a huge 
bundle of baskets. ' How do you, sister V said she 
cheerfully to me, as I opened the door — 'buy any 
basket? some very good one. You see me, sister, me 
poor Indian, me come great way just now, me got no 
breakfast, sold no basket to-day. Buy some, sister ? ' 
'Well come in, sister,' said I, 'and dry yourself, and 
eat something, and I will look at your baskets.' 
So, turning sideways to accommodate her pack to 
the door, she followed me into the kitchen, and side 
by side the three travelling companions seated them- 
selves. When I had purchased some baskets, and 
given them some food, and they were getting comfort- 
ably dry, I found her very chatty, and we became good 
15 



170 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



friends. She told me where her camp was, (about 
twelve miles distant,) that her Sanap had been dead 
about seven winters, that she lived alone by the side 
of the river, and made baskets. She seemed quite 
anxious to know how she could get to Boston, when 
I told her, if she were there, she could sell all her 
baskets in an hour. She was very intelligent, honest- 
looking, and had such a pleasant, yet sad tone of 
voice, that my heart pitied her. She appeared to 
be a strict Catholic, and very regardful of the truth. 
She asked how many hours it would be before the sun 
would set. I told her ; she shook her head, tied on 
her blanket, and gathering up her remaining high-col- 
ored baskets, again set off in the storm, accompanied 
by my good wishes." 

The anniversary of her mother's death, which oc- 
curred on the 18th of March, she noticed in a letter 
to her sister, from which a few extracts are here pre- 
sented. 

" I cannot resist the earnest impulse of my heart to 
address some words to you, significant of my remem- 
brance of you all on this sad, yet painfully pleasing 
anniversary. I know by ' the deep communion of my 
soul with thine,' that you are thinking of me to-day ; 
and that, while for a moment the last eventful year 
seems forgotten. Father, and you, and I, are once 
again by her form which was at this time, one year 
ago, fast growing cold in death. O, Emma, I feel 
again the anguish of that scene, and can scarcely be 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



171 



reconciled to the conviction that neve7^ more are we 
to meet her, until the same fearful change has come 
upon us. We each think alike about it, and know 
that ' all is well ' with her. I am ashamed of a tear 
or regret at her happy release. But O, how often, 
daily, when sitting here alone, her image comes before 
me, with some familiar words or manner, and I begin 
in an instant to enjoy it. O, the thought that she is 
gone, is very painful. Were she living -now, I often 
think how I should hasten to her. Some one has said, 
that although the dead are removed from our kind 
offices, we may not be from theirs. I always love to 
think that she knows our circumstances, and that we 
still share her sympathy, perhaps her aid. Yet it is 
but ' for a season ' that we survive ; a short time and 
s]] Will be passed with us also. Gathered to the dead, 
shall we be admitted to the company of those who die 
no more ? Let us use the present moment aright, and 
improve the grace already given. I do not feel that I 
have by any means derived the benefit from her death, 
which was designed for me. I am humbled by the 
thought, and have been observing this as a day of fast- 
ing. I saw the need of this particularly, and hope, 
should I see another anniversary, to have, ere that, 
reaped more profit unto ' life eternal.' I hope in view 
of their uncertainty, as well as the worth of the bless- 
ings which remain to me, that I shall prize them more 
and more, 

"I am alone this evening, (Friday, 25th,) as H. is 
at meeting. It is ' Good Friday,' and universally ob- 
served here. Of course, by the Catholics and the 



172 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



Church-folk, it is regarded as in the States, only with 
more strictness. All stores are closed, and business 
suspended, and religious exercises are held as on the 
Sabbath. The Methodists are very careful in the ob- 
servance of it. I heard a sermon this morning in 
one of our chapels, on Isaiah, 53d chapter, first phrase 
of the 11th verse. This afternoon we met in Love 
Feast. It has been a Fast-day, and seemed so like 
the Sabbath, that I could scarcely realize that the 
friends at home were pursuing their ordinary em- 
ployments. 1 am pleased with the practice, and also 
much pleased with some others attend.ed to by the 
Wesleyans here, which seemed not to have been 
adopted, or to have been discontinued, in our societies. 
On New Year's day, for instance, the members of 
society always meet in the chapels, when, after appro- 
priate singing and prayer, the ' covenant ' is read. Ti.is 
is contained in a few pages, and presents definitely all 
the great responsibilities of the members, their duties, 
dangers and rewards. It was written at the com~ 
mencement of Methodism, and is venerable from its 
age and author, and truly awful from its deep solemnity. 
After the reading, a few moments are spent by the 
audience upon their knees in silent prayer, and then 
they are called upon to pledge themselves anew. The 
hymn commencing, 

' Come let us use the grace divine,' 

or part of it, is sung, and then the sacrament is admin'> 
istered — the whole service occupies about two hours. 
^'I thank you most cordially, my good sister, for 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



173 



your kind letter. I had been looking for it several 
days, and thinking the time feri/ long in which I had 
not heard from you. Every month it seems longer and 
longer ; such intervals are beginning to make me home- 
sick. While the sun is shining upon us both, let us 
not forget each other. Nothing of special interest has 
occurred with us since I last wrote to you. My health 
is now almost as good as before my Fredericton trip, 
although the local pain of my illness still follows 
me, and almost precludes comfortable attention to 
your recommendation of daily or frequent out-door 
exercise. 

Give my love to Mrs. Otheman, I will drink to her 
health and comfort my cup of cocoa to-night. Much 
love to Edward and Franky, I often remember them in 
my prayers. Give much love to Catharine and Pamelia. 
Give a great deal of love to my dear father. I send 
love to him and mother, hoping she is well and happy." 

In the month of May, according to previous ar- 
rangement, she made a visit to Boston, and spent th6 
summer in my family, at Chelsea. She looked forward 
to this visit with much anticipation of pleasure, and 
seemed to enjoy it exceedingly, with only one regret — 
the necessary absence of her husband. In reference 
to her contemplated visit she wrote on the 7th of May, 
as follows : 

"I am this week to return for a season to my early 
friends. Pleasures, such as are only to be found in 
such society, promise happiness — but I am to leave 
15* 



174 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



the one who is dearer to me than all other friends. O 
could he be with me there to enjoy those pleasures^ 
they would be a thousand times more sweet. But, O, 
I doj I will give myself to the Faithful and True 
Friend, and be safe with Him.'* 

She arrived in Chelsea, Friday, the 14th day of 
May, and was enchanted with the contrast which the 
vernal season presented here, to the aspect of nature 
in New Brunswick, when she left. There the trees 
were scarcely bursting their leaf-buds, and the grass 
but turning partially green. Here the very hill-tops 
were covered with verdure ; lilacs, tulips and crocuses 
were blown, and pear and apple trees in full bloom — 
the peach, plum and cherry having already shed their 
earlier blossoms. The soft warm air, was peculiarly 
delightful, after experiencing the cold winds of the 
east, and the chilling breezes of the sea ; and the 
scene appeared for the time, like an Eden of rural 
beauty. Her affectionate nature was also gratified 
with the sight and society of her beloved friends once 
more, and we eagerly rejoiced in the privilege of hav- 
ing her once again among us. Would that the joys of 
earthly friendship, the pleasure of friendly meetings, 
e'er could last ; but this is not the land or the clime 
for perennial bliss. The yearnings of pure affection, 
so often disappointed and unsatisfied here, will be 
completely and for ever satisfied in that world where 
' all the air is love,' and partings are unknown. 

" The sadness of this aching love 
Dims not our Father's house above." 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



175 



On the Sabbath following her arrival, she wrote ; 
This is my first Sabbath in New-England, after 
my interesting absence. With gratitude to Him who 
controls the elements, and orders and defends our steps, 
I would anew inscribe myself as His. O keep me 
Thine through these days." 

On the first Sabbath in June, she wrote again ; 

^' The first of summer's Sabbaths is again here. 
How beautiful is every thing around — the sky, the 
earth, the sea, all testify the goodness of God. He is 
Himself in all these glorious objects,, and the wonders 
of His skill are visible where'er we turn our gaze. O, 
what a blessing to Uve ! — to live in a world blessed 
by His presence, and doubly blessed to those who, 
taught by His spirit, can trace manifestations of His 
mercy engraven upon the page of nature, and, looking 
within, can read upon a heart redeemed from sin, and 
pardoned freely, those brighter, more sacred, more en- 
dearing evidences of the mercy which once stooped so 
low, to raise so high, a worm, a child of earth ! To 
Him who gave my being, will I now give again my 
heart, and, trusting all to Him, care only to please 
and be accepted of Him. My dearest husband I give 
to Him. O direct his steps. Thou who hast given 
him his commission, and keep in love and faith the 
servant Thou hast called, nor let him ever turn from 
Thee." 

The following extracts from a letter written to Mr, 
Pickard about this time, will reveal to us something of 



176 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



the tender and sacred sentiment with which, as a wife, 
her heart was animated, as also the fideUty of her im- 
pulses to the supreme claims of duty, and the ardor of 
hope with which she encouraged her husband in the 
responsible and holy work of the Christian ministry. 
The notices of the Nestorian Bishop and the mission- 
ary, Rev. Mr. Perkins, though they embrace what may 
be familiar to many readers, will serve to rekindle the 
agreeable interest which was so generally felt by the 
American community, while these individuals sojourned 
and discoursed among us. 

My dearest H. — So many days have passed since 
I had any visible and outward correspondence with 
you, that I cannot refuse myself the gratification offered 
me by the silent converse of spirit with which ' thought 
holds the distant friend,' while the pen is employed 
with the simple symbols. And yet how poor are words, 
and . how meagrely do they sometimes convey those 
sentiments which the heart feels and forms, and which it 
alone can comprehend, though it cannot utter. Chosen 
of all friends, and prized above them all, happy am I 
to feel you so, and happy for the 'uniting tie' which, 
removing formal constraint, allows me the pleasure of 
the sweet confession, by securing to me both the duty 
and the privilege of loving you more than all. How 
often and vainly do I repeat the wish that you were 
here, and as often am I compelled to banish the thought, 
because 

' The dear delight seems so to be desired,' 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



177 



that were I to admit it long, I might become almost 
discontented, even in the ' honey-moon ' of my visit to 
these friends. O, to add your presence to the store 
now, would be to make it much too large — too large 
for long duration. That we may contemplate such an 
hour of meeting, after a time at least, I think and hope 
about, until, frequently, the days which intervene are 
almost forgotten. That I have, and shall continue to 
have, your affectionate sympathy, is one of my first 
earthly comforts, and that I do, and shall, retain devout 
remembrance in your prayers, is my first earthly de- 
pendence, if earthly it may be termed. 

" After the day or two in which I was recovering 
from the effects of sea-sickness, my health was very 
comfortable, better than it had been for some weeks 
before ; but near the close of last week, I was quite 
suddenly attacked with illness, very similar to the ill 
turn which I had in St. John, after my journey. We 
could not account for the recurrence, as I assure you / 
had been careful. During Saturday and Sabbath, I 
suffered so much from fever and inflammation, that I 
feared I should not soon recover ; but supplies of laud- 
anum, dover-powders, nitre, etc., with the best of nurs- 
ing, have contributed to make me almost well. Now 
that I can write to you again, T shall feel myself quite so. 

The morning is pleasant, and the scenery abroad 
delightful. Chelsea is a charming place, and constant- 
ly improving. It is occupied by the residences of gen- 
tlemen who are transacting business in the city, and 
prefer to leave their families to the enjoyment of their 
gardens and hill-sides ; yet so connected with the city 



178 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



as to secure all its advantages. The Methodist Society 
here is thus furnished with the services of some of its 
most efficient and promising members. It is at pres- 
ent, as it has been during the greater part of the win- 
ter, favored with an encouraging spirit of revival. They 
have a very neat, new Chapel, to which, by the way, 
there are many thoughts among a circZe of the members 
of inviting you. I find they are half ready, in New- 
England, to claim, you on more than one account. 
They seem to ' calculate ' upon your coming among 
them, I find, though not from any encouragement or 
word received from me. Whatever may be my private 
feelings, my lips, I am purposed, shall not transgress in 
this matter. Far be it from me ! I would not, if I 
could, withdraw one glance of yours from the strait 
and narrow way of duty. Time is short, and it remains 
that. all these erijoyments, and the plans of life, be to 
us, particularly, who are given more emphatically and 
singly to the service of the Church, as though they 
were not. To be imbued, invested with the Holy 
Spirit, I know, I feel, is the only preparation, and will 
be the highest gratification, which we should seek. I 
think of you much, and have great pleasure in com- 
mending you to ' care divine.' Next Monday, I think, 
is to be with you a day of almost unprecedented inter- 
est ; I can but constantly think of you, and be encour- 
aged. Indeed, I wonder that you should ever yield so 
long, as sometimes you have done, to despondency, 
when so evidently a chosen instrument of God, favored 
with the promised agency of His Spirit. O, look up- 
ward a little, and just beyond us, when he who has 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



179 



been faithful in little, ^h^M enter into the possession 
of that sphere of usefulness and bUss so much enlarged 
and glorified. I am h^^^y for you. 

" This. has been the week of Religious Anniversaries 
in Boston. I had hoped to be able to attend them, 
but was prevented by the illness to which I have allud- 
ed—a disappointment for which I attempted and 
secured some amends, by as carefully as might be 
attending the last meeting — the anniversary of the 
American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Mis- 
sions. There were addresses from the elite of all the 
denomination ; and the Nestorian Bishop, and Mr. 
Perkins, Missionary to the Nestorians, each took part 
in the exercises. I wish you could have been there ! 
I was so desirous of keeping every choice thought and 
incident for you, that somehow they sadly jostled upon 
each other. Yet if I can have time this morning, before 
Mr. O. calls for the letter, I will give you what I can. 

" After some eloquent addresses, Mr. Perkins arose, 
and gave a brief statement of the affairs and prospects 
of the mission. Eight years ago, he said, they present- 
ed the appearance of an unsightly corpse, having lost 
every spark of vitality infused by the Apostles into the 
the form of Christianity, which they still retained. He 
sweetly recognised the hand of God in their defence 
thus far, and based all his future hope on this — tracing 
in the present improvement of the times, in the in- 
crease of English influence in Persia, and in the adop- 
tion of English customs, another branch of the opera- 
tions of the Spirit of God. He said that this ground 
of his confidence was first discovered by an early visit 
from the Prince of Persia, who visited their school, then 

I 



180 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



a novelty in the Empire, and who was so gratified, as 
to issue a firman for the welfare and protection of these 
' holy strangers,' who had come from the New World, 
for the benefit of his people, ordering a guard of sol- 
diers for their defence.* He related some thrilling 
incidents — one, that while on a visit to one of their 
schools, he and two others were attacked by some ruf- 
fians, opposed to their object, one of whom drew a 
dagger upon Mr. P., but he escaped from the deadli- 
ness of the aim, by a sHp of his foot, though the dagger 
penetrated his clothes, and left a wound in his flesh. 
Pursued, they fled into a house ; and he added, he 
never felt a calmer reliance upon the care of God than 
at that moment, as he saw, in the incident, the pres- 
ence of Him who said to the point of the steel, ' Thus 
far, and no farther.' It just served for the conviction 
of the villain, whose arrest alarmed and subdued the 
people to their influence. The Bishop is most venera- 
ble in appearance, though in middle age, and has a 
most benign expression of countenance, to which his 
long, coal-black beard, and dress of black silk, give 
much effect. He rose with hesitancy, and, with great 
difficulty, addressed us a few moments in English. He 
said, ^ He travel much, he like our great, beautiful 
country much, he see almost all good folk, few bad (?) : 
he wish us to remember the scriptures speak of Caper- 

* It is strange that those who profess to be Christians, and who, 
certainly, could object nothing to the moral and Christian influence 
of this American Mission, should have been less generous, and less 
regardful of the welfare of the Mission, than the heathen Prince of 
Persia. What spirit of darkness is it, which led the Puseyite con- 
federates in Mosul, to embarrass and interrupt the missionaries in 
their arduous and blessed work ? 



HANNAH M. PICEARD. 



181 



naum ; we ^ must, will be humble,' etc. He said, ^ long 
time ago, their people great, send missionaries through 
Asia, good, knew God ; but now, like the foolish vir- 
gins, their lamps gone out' — ^then extending his hands 
imploringly, said, ' Give us of your oil,' The effect 
was overwhelming ; and the people seemed to separate 
with new. zeal, by reason of this appeal from one who 
had suffered much for the Cross of Christ. He was 
once bastinadoed, but seems to be ready for his return 
with new courage." 

Some other portions of her correspondence with her 
husband during this visit, as also a few private records, 
will be presented, which exhibit the characteristics of 
her mind and heart unchanged, and lead us to admire 
the grace of God in her, and her maturing Christian 
virtues. 

^' June 9. — My ever dear husband. I am feeling 
poorly to-night, too much so to write any thing which 
I can esteem good enough for you. The bed which I 
have just deserted, is not now uninviting, and Emma, 
my kind, beloved sister, is summoning me to join her 
in the next apartment ; but the thought of spending a 
little time with you in 'fancy's bright domain,' is so 
sweet to me, that I gladly resist other offers of pleas- 
ure. The day has been a gloomy one — east winds 
and mists, and driving rains have succeeded in making 
it sufficiently so ; but now as the sun goes to its setting, 
the west wind prevails against them, and I wish you 
could be here with me, that we might enjoy together 
16 



182 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



the surpassing beauty of the moment's scene. I would 
not, if I could, command the novelist's style, and wea- 
ry you with descriptions of out-door matters, when I 
would so much prefer that, instead of the beautiful hills 
and tasteful cottages, burnished with late sunlight, 
which you would see from my window, your attention 
should be given to another object, which, though less 
deserving on other accounts, would, I am sure, more 
gratefully repay the bestowed favor. I can scarcely 
believe the suggestion of my heart, now affectionately 
hoping the time, not distant, when we shall happily 
' meet again.' 

" The Httle Bible which you gave me, lies by my 
side, and is, to my eye, the most pleasing among other 
pleasant objects ; and your last letter of the 1st inst., 
which I see from between its pages, while it adds an- 
other to the rich list of my enjoyments, seems now 
sweetly to connect them all. I am reminded, as I look 
upon its white edge within that holy book, and abroad 
upon the shaded but very lovely scenery, of a thought, 
expressed by you in it, of that meeting, which awaits 
us in another and better country, not only with each 
other, but with all whom we love as brethren and friends 
of the Lord Jesus. I think my love of beautiful natu- 
ral scenery has much strengthened by allowing it to 
become to my mind a faint representation of that 
' country,' always remembering, that * no midnight 
shade, no clouded sun ' can obscure its beauty and 
brightness, for ' the Lamb is the light thereof.' 

" Sometimes, when enjoying so much these fleeting 
weeks of association with my own family and friends, 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



183 



the thought occurs, that henceforth, our paths in Hfe 
will be separate, that only ^ few and far between ' can 
be our opportunities of intercourse, and I am more 
keenly grieved than ever ; I know not how to leave 
them, should Providence spare my life. But when I 
place myself under the influence of that faith which 
surveys 'things unseen by feeble sense,' my affections 
and desires expand ; wherever I place myself in thought, 
I seem to be at home, and feeling that we have a ^ con- 
tinuing city ' in that bright world to which we haste, 
think I can forget what of sadness may remain about 
the years of separation, and happily go where duty 
calls. The way is indeed cheered, and more, it is 
richly, sufficiently blessed with earthly comfort while I 
can have your society, with the hope, too, set before 
us both, of this relationship purified, spiritual in that 
better state — and Heaven all full of blessings. 

" Friday evening. — I had permitted my pen last 
night to glide thus along, adding line to line, until twi- 
light withdrew its friendly aid, and I preferred to omit 
writing more, lest I should indulge too much in essay^ 
to which you will perceive, my feelings were leading 
me. I am happy to be informed so fully of the inter- 
esting hour of your ordination, and of its happiness to 
you. My mind had tried in vain satisfactorily to pic- 
ture to itself the circumstances of the occasion, but my 
heart failed not in attempting to present you before the 
throne of grace. I knew, before leaving you, that I 
should particularly regret my absence then; on that 
Monday evening, I felt it still more deeply ; and, since 
receiving your last, I can scarcely forgive myself for 



184 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



selling the opportunity at almost any price. But these 
regrets avail rhe nothing. I do as much rejoice in that 
He ' counted you faithful, putting you into the minis^ 
try,' and kindled such emotions in your heart. Dare 
you not believe that they were the effect of the puri- 
fying ' live coal from off the altar,' as you said, * Here 
am I ?' Why not? 

'^I am pleased with your appointment* on many 
accounts, and should still be so, had I more of worldly 
ambition for your career in life than I have. I think 
it opens a field for which you are vi^ell prepared, and I 
believe it will be agreeable to you. Its difficulties I, 
of course, cannot now understand, but I can think that 
your Conference would not tax so good a son with too 
weighty a burden of responsibilities, though I infer they 
must be many. I long to see you, and talk of neces- 
sary arrangements*" 

In her journal she writes, 

" Sabbath evening, June 19th. — The hour is calm 
and peaceful. Scarce a sound is on the breeze, as it 
sweeps o'er these fair hills and gardens, save the song 
of many birds, and the soft notes of the city bells, call- 
ing the people to the place of prayer. It is an hour 
for thoughts most sacred and sublime ; and on the very 
sky and air, there seem the tracings of holy time — fit 
season for the weekly ofTered, Christian sacrifice, Frous 
how many family circles is the ofTering made, and how 

* Mr. Pickard, at the late Di&trict Meeting, had been appointed 
Book Agent and Editor of the British North Americatt Wcsleyan 
Methodist Magazine, to reside at St. John. 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



185 



many congregations of the saints are now met to lay 
upon their general altar, that sacrifice which is pleasing 
in His sight whose name sanctifies every gift ! In hope 
of seeing Thee in Thy kingdom of love and glory, O 
Thou gracious One, would we mention the name of 
Jesus ; and, praying that through Him we may be per- 
mitted to enter the courts of Thine exalted tabernacle, 
when heart and flesh shall fail, would leave ourselves 
with Thee. Keep, O keep Thine own people ; keep 
those whom Thou hast appointed to minister to them ; 
keep our little circle of relatives, and let us all be found 
in Thee ; keep that one dearer than all others to me. 
O be Thou the portion of his life, the place of his refuge 
in all trials, the abiding hope, ever to cheer his spirit; 
and when his present life shall end, and no more he 
shall need a refuge from its storms, or hope amid its 
trials, then, O be Thou his glorious portion. 

" July 3d. — I live to see another Sabbath evening — 
how sweet, how calm ; the thunder, and the lightning's 
flash, and the rain are o'er, and all is delightful as "^now 
comes still evening on.' O, I wish I could look up to 
God with all that love and consciousness of acceptance 
which He is wilhng to bestow. What shall I do ? I 
need, I must have this. I desire it more than aught 
beside, and yet I seem not to desire it. Great God, 
aid me when I seek to give my all to Thee, aid me 
that I may renounce all ; and if it be because of the 
stupefying power of sin that I realize so little commu- 
nion with Thee, O Thou who art stronger than a thou- 
sand legions of its hosts, O do Thou overcome that 
power in me; if it be because of bodily infirmities and 



186 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



disquiet, O Thou who knowest our frames, and remem- 
berest that we are dust, O do Thou ^ pity the heart that 
would be Thine,' and, at least, accept, for Jesus' sake, 
the poor offering, though it please Thee to hold back 
the brightness of Thy face. But is this Thy will ? O 
God, I do give myself, my all — all — all to Thee, 
Thy will be done, and I will rejoice. Yes, Thy will 
be done. O take, O sanctify. In life, in . death, I 
ivould be thine. O may it please Thee to keep me. 
O stand near me in the hour of approaching trial. I 
know not the issue, but O, do Thou be there, and let 
Thy will be done." 

^'Monday Eve, July 4th.— The bells are ringing 
merrily, making the air vocal with their pealing chimes. 
It is the anniversary of our national Independence — 
the joyful tale they are telling far as the undulations 
swell. For years I have hstened to them thus, and 
enjoyed each tone, because they were tones of glad- 
ness, and spoke the language of ten thousand grateful 
hearts. When shall I listen to them again ? None 
can tell. I must leave them soon — all these familiar 
scenes, and go to a stranger land, should my life be 
prolonged; but I go with one dear to me; I go with 
One who guards us both. All places are alike to Him, 
and shall be pleasant to me if He be with us there. 

"July 8. — I trust I have this morning a heart of 
gratitude to my Heavenly Father, who not only supplies 
us with all temporal good necessary to our existence in 
a pleasant world, but who, in abundant mercy, lavishes 
upon us those crowning blessings which make the 
heart, like a well-watered garden, smile with sweetness 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



187 



and beauty. Yesterday his kind Providence led to 
me the one whom I most love. Truly I am undeserv- 
ing of His many favors, but his hand is open still." 

The season which our friends spent with us at Chel- 
sea, is remembered with a great degree of delightful 
interest. The weather in the month of July that 
year, was almost invariably fine ; nature was in the 
very perfection of summer beauty ; and the fond at- 
tachments which we cherished, and the Christian inter- 
course which we enjoyed, served to strengthen our 
conviction of the value of the relationships and affec- 
tions of social life, especially when guarded and 
sanctified by Christian principle and influence. Mr. 
Pickard remained four or five weeks, and was then 
obliged to return home to attend to his official duties. 

The following recorded tribute of earnest and pure 
afiection, of sweetly pious resignation, and of holy 
hope and joy, seems almost too sacred for public no- 
tice ; and yet it cannot fail of producing a blessed and 
beneficial impression on all who read aright the emotions 
of a heart so affectionate and so devout. 

" Saturday Night, Aug. 13. Again we are separ- 
ated — listening to the voice of duty, my dear husband 
has refused to hearken to the suggestions offered from 
any other source. His departure brought a bitter mo- 
ment to me — to him — yet it is well, all well. A 
longing desire for the comfort of his presence and 
assured affection in that hour of approaching pain and 
danger, has prevented my feeling fully heretofore the 



188 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



imperativeness of other claims, even while I would at 
once shrink from the thought of detaining him for a 
moment, when that distant duty required his absence 
from my side. I fear I have not urged his return as I 
should have done — may T be forgiven ! O, our Father, 
Thou art good, bless us with Thy continued mercies ; 
and O, for the sake of our ' Friend ' alone, grant that 
whatever of earth-born care and selfish gratification 
has mingled around us, or dimmed our spiritual vision, 
may now be taken away by the blood of the cross, that 
it stain not the sacrifice which we again present to 
Thee. Let us be Thine for ever. Thine wholly. The 
future we leave to ' Thy sure love and tender care.' 
We do, we do ! Every sorrow ceases, every fear dies 
at Thy feet ; for from Thy love each pain and trial 
receives its commission, and would bear our trust up- 
ward to Thy presence. Then while in the depths of 
Thine own perfections. Thou workest out Thy bright 
designs respecting us, we rest secure, although we trace 
not Thy finger in all Thine operations. 

" Bless dear H.! Happy have been the days allowed 
us together in pleasant New-England, ^ my own sweet 
home of other days but happier, far happier will be the 
blissful days of eternity, when in holy companionship we 
go abroad among the unfading scenes of our glorious 
home on high. 

' Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear 
Invades its bounds ; nor mortal woes,' 

can shed a moment's gloom about us there ! O, accept 
us, and let us sweetly labor on, until our sun go down ; 



HANNAH M. PICKAHD. 



189 



then in some appointed portion of Thy vineyard, let the 
voice of the summoning angel greet us, surrounded by 
gathered fruits and finished toils, ready to enter into 
Thy joy. Give us, while we tarry for that hour, O give 
us, not of earth the golden store, but momentarily par- 
don, peace of mind, and sweet content ; give us increas- 
ing love to each other, increasing love to Thee, and ever 
growing faith in our Lord Jesus Christ — -yea, 'ever- 
more give us this bread.'' Again, bless dear H., now 
while o'er the waters he pursues his way, be Thou 
around his path. Save him from anxiety for any left 
behind ; save him from fear of future trials ; and let 
him find his strength and joy in Thee now, arid his 
exceeding great reward in Thee hereafter. 

Hannah." 

After more than the usual disquietude, despondency 
and anxiety which precede the hour of human birth, 
on the seventh day of September, Mrs. Pickard expe- 
rienced a fresh and untold joy in the new relation of 
mother. Her husband, who had again been with us 
a short time, returned, after a few days, to his appointed 
labors, and left the mother and infant boy to follow 
him when it should be judged prudent and safe for 
them to venture. During her stay the anniversary of 
their marriage occurred, which she commemorated in 
the following record, which I transcribe, with its special 
indications of time and place. 

Chelsea, Mass. U. S., Sabbath Eve, Oct. 2, 1842. 
^' One year ago, at this hour, I was standing before 



190 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



the altar to plight my faith to the one whom Providence 
had chosen as the partner and guide of my life ; that 
faith I promised, and the love of a devoted heart I 
gave. I looked to the future, but could read none of 
its uncertainties ; I looked upvrard for strength to meet 
its approaching events, and towards the respected, be- 
loved one by my side, and though to become soon a 
stranger among strangers, I felt no fear. And now, at 
the close of a year, I look upon the past, and up to 
the Disposer of all, and am thankful. I am thankful 
for the silken cord which binds us as one ; thankful 
for the delicate gift which endears and beautifies that 
union ; thankful that it is to be perpetuated ' so long 
as we both shall live and that 

' Beyond this vale of tears, 
There is a life above, 
Unmeasured by the flight of years,' 

where we shall be re-united after the touch of severing 
death, and our spirits shall blend in eternal holiness 
and joy." 

In a letter to her husband, communicating the time 
selected for her purposed return, she thus writes re- 
specting the ideas and feelings awakened by her rela- 
tion as mother. 

" I have had some of the most delightful moments 
of profitable and elevating thoughts, with our little boy 
by me, which I have ever known ; especially do T get, 
through the feelings enkindled in my own heart, some 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



191 



deeper, I think truer, realization of the love of God 
to His children, O, I enjoy the train of thoughts 
thus awakened above all others, for it leads through 
all that is endearing, and faith-inspiring, and glorious 
in our hopes and in the promises." 

And so did she always ascend from earthly scenes 
and relationships to spiritual and heavenly views ; and 
seemed ever more deeply moved by those divine reali- 
ties, so vivid to her faith, than by the visible, sensible 
objects which are only their representations. 

Having once again bidden adieu to warmly attached 
friends, she, with the babe, accompanied by Mr. Thomas 
Pickard, her husband's brother, left East Boston in the 
cars for Portland, where they took the steamer Hun- 
tress for St. John. She arrived safely on the 29th of 
October, in the midst of cordial greetings, and happily 
found herself once more in her own home, which was 
then located in Duke street, in the City. 



192 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



CHAPTER XI. 

History of the Wesleyan Academy, Sackville, N. B. Description 
of SacTtville. Mrs. Pickard's journey to Sackville. Opening of 
the School. Baptism of her child. The nature of her connection 
with the Institution. Anxiety on account of her father's illness. 
Note to Miss C. Patten. Attachment to friends both in her 
native and adopted land. Short visit to Boston. Commence- 
ment of the Academy. General esteem. Her aged Class-leader. 
Letters. 

Soon after Mrs. Pickard's return home, her husband 
was appointed Principal of the Wesleyan Academy, 
just then completed, which is under the control and 
patronage of the New-Brunswick and Nova Scotia 
Wesleyan District Conferences. This Institution is 
pleasantly and conveniently situated in the town of 
Sackville — a border town of New-Brunswick, about 
equi-distant from St. John and Hahfax, N. S. It 
occupies an elevation of ground, now called Mount 
Allison. This name is given to the spot from sincere 
and deserved regard to the truly estimable gentleman 
whose Christian liberality founded this greatly needed 
and highly useful school. Such deeds deserve, and 
will receive the meed of human regard and praise, how- 
ever desirous the authors themselves may be to receive 
only the approbation of a gratified conscience, and the 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



193 



divine favor. It is, perhaps, one of the most painful 
trials to which persons of truly modest merit are ha- 
ble, that any of their really deserving acts should 
be made the subject of public notice and remark, so 
much of imperfection and felt unworthiness mingles, 
as they think, in all they do. Yet to excite the sloth- 
ful and selfish to similar deeds, as well as to glorify 
Him who gives both the means and the grace rightly 
to employ them, is not the least of the benefits which 
may result from such wisely bestowed charities. And 
this result can be most fully realized only by preserved 
and public memorials of such beneficent acts. 

The history and operation of this Academy, are so 
intimately connected with the remaining portion of our 
narrative, that a particular and somewhat detailed ac- 
count of it seems necessary and important. 

It is proper to say that the Wesleyan societies had, 
for some time, felt the urgent want of such an Institu- 
tion, and had not failed to make efforts to procure one. 
As an ecclesiastical body, they were among the first in 
the Province of New-Brunswick, to attempt the estab- 
lishment of a literary seminary. Several years ago 
some subscriptions were obtained, and a lot of land in 
Fredericton purchased, for the erection of an Academy ; 
but a sufficient amount could not be secured to justify 
their proceeding farther than the purchase of the land, 
and the enterprize was abandoned for the time. The 
hopes, thus crushed, were most cheeringly revived by a 
very munificent proposal from an unexpected source. 

Two hundred miles from Fredericton, where their 
eyes had rested as the location for their desired school, 
17 



194 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



and one hundred and thirty miles from St. John, the 
usual seat of their District Conference, God had put it 
into the heart of a very worthy Wesleyan brother to 
become the benefactor of his own people, and of the 
people of the two Provinces, by the endowment of a 
literary institution on a generous and Christian founda- 
tion. The impulse which moved him to this act, was 
a motive of Christian benevolence and of religious 
obligation. He had felt for some time that it w^as his 
duty to do more than he had done for the cause of 
Christ, with the means which Providence had placed 
at his disposal ; and in contemplating the field of effort 
he could fix on no point more worthy, and more in 
need of the aid which he could bestow, than the estab- 
lishment of a High School for the benefit of the Wes- 
leyan Societies. Accordingly, in January 1839, he 
addressed a letter to the District Conference of New 
Brunswick, containing his proposition. The letter was 
laid before the Conference at its meeting in May fol- 
lowing, in the city of St. John, in which he proposed 
to purchase a site, and erect a suitable building for an 
Academy, and to furnish one hundred pounds a year 
for ten years, for its current expenses — the Academy 
to be located in Sackville, the place of his residence, 
and to be under the joint control of the two Provincial 
Districts, New-Brunswick and Nova Scotia: and he 
modestly expressed the hope that the Districts would 
accept his proposition and appoint a Committee to 
superintend the business. The Districts, at their re- 
spective Conferences, did not hesitate in the matter, 
but gratefully received the offer, and made provision to 
carry it into effect. 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



195 



The priiiciples on which Mr. Allison wished that the 
Institution should be established are briefly but clearly 
set forth in the letter of proposal, and in his address 
at the laying of the corner-stone. ''My mind," says 
he, " has of late been much impressed with the great 
importance of that admonition of the wise man • ' Train 
up a child in the way he should go ; and when he is 
old he wili not depart from it.' The establishment of 
schools in which j>wre religion is not only taught, but 
constantly brought before the youthful mind, and rep- 
resented to it as the basis and ground-work of all the 
happiness which man is capable of enjoying here on 
earth, and eminently calculated to form the most per- 
fect character, is, I think, one of the most efficient 
means in the order of Divine Providence to bring about 
the happy result spoken of by the wdse man." It was 
under this impression, as he says in the letter, con- 
nected with a persuasion of his accountability to that 
gracious Being, whom he vvould ever recognize as the 
source of all the good that is done in the earth, that 
he made his proposition. 

The Committee of the two Districts met in Sack- 
ville in the month of January, 1840, and determined 
on the- plan of the building, etc.; and the building was 
commenced in May of the same y^r. On the 9th of 
July, the corner stone was laid with religious services, 
on Vv'hich occasion Mr. Allison made the following brief 
address, in the act of putting the stone in its place. 

" The Foundation-stone of this building I now pro- 
ceed to lay, in the name of the Holy Trinity, Father, 



196 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



Son and Holy Ghost. And may the education ever to 
be furnished by the Institution be conducted on Wes- 
leyan principles, to the glory of God, and the extension 
of His cause. Amen." 

This building, which is of wood, is a noble edifice, 
one hundred and fifty feet in length, 50 feet in width, 
and three stories high, above the basement. It has a 
handsome portico in the middle of the facade, with four 
Doric columns from the ground floor to the roof of the 
main building ; and two half-square columns projecting 
at each end of the facade at proper distances apart. 
The basement is built of red sandstone, or freestone, 
the rest of the building is painted white. Its internal 
arrangement is planned in no narrow or stinted meas- 
ure. The rooms of the lower or ground story, includi'>f^- 
chapel, library, recitation rooms, parlors and silting 
rooms, are high, large, airy and commodious. The 
study and sleeping rooms of the students are of suffi- 
ciently ample dimensions. There are accommodations 
for about eighty boarders. The basement is occupied 
with dining hall, kitchen, etc., all light, dry and comfort- 
able. The Principal and Governor occupy apartments 
at each end respectively, which are separated from the 
rest of the building, by partitions, so that the spacious 
middle hall does not pass throughout the building from 
end to end. The edifice is well and firmly built, and is 
neatly and comfortably furnished. It was erected at an 
expense of between five and six thousand pounds ; four 
thousand of which, Mr. AUison gave as a donation. 



HANNAH M. PICKARD, 



197 



accompanying his offering with a devotion of time, 
labor, and personal attention, which cannot be reckoned 
in the value of money, and which showed his deep 
interest in the enterprise. Additional subscriptions to 
aid in supplying furniture, library, apparatus, etc., were 
also procured to the amount of more than one thousand 
five hundred pounds. 

Sackville, in the County of Westmoreland, lies at 
the head of the Bay of Fundy, and the Academy 
building commands a view of its waters as they ascend, 
with their mighty tides, the numerous creeks which re- 
semble rivers in length and breadth. The township 
is rather the best cultivated of any in the Province. 
It contains a great deal of excellent land. It also con- 
tains a thriving and industrious population, not closely 
settled, with Epicopalian, Baptist and Methodist 
churches or chapels. The location is healthy, owing 
much of its salubrity to the high winds which purify 
the atmosphere as they sweep across from the Bay to 
the Gulf of St. Lawrence, about twelve miles distant. 
Immense tracts of marsh have, by diking, been re- 
deemed from the waters of the Bay or creeks — the 
work of the former French inhabitants — which now af- 
ford vast quantities of English grass. Large herds of 
cattle, and considerable flocks of sheep are raised in 
this as well as other parts of New-Brunswick, for it is 
chiefly a grain and grazing country. Sackville is near 
the locality of the grind-stone quarries, from which the 
American markets are so amply supplied ; and it is in 
the midst of a region abounding with interesting min- 
eralogical and geological formations. . The post-road 
17* 

1 
I 



198 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



between St. John, N. B., and Halifax, N. S., passes 
through the village, which is, conveniently located for 
access from other J3arts of the Provinces. Its short 
distance from the Gulf, renders it easily accessible by 
the inhabitants of Prince Edward Island, from which 
several scholars have already been received. It is also 
expected that some aid, in subscriptions and scholars, 
will be obtained from Newfoundland, which the Rev. 
Mr. Rice intends to visit, in the way of his agency, 
the present year. No spot, probably, could haye been 
selected, combining more advantages for a prosperous 
and flourishing Wesleyan school. The patronage, al- 
ready furnished, in the supply of scholars, testifies 
both to the demand for such an Institution, the general 
sense of its value, and the facility with which its ad- 
vantages may be secured. There has been a constant 
increase of scholars from the first. The first term, 
thirty-four in all attended ; the second term, forty-five ; 
the third, sixty-four ; and last winter, one hundred ; 
making as many both day and boarding scholars, as the 
Institution will accommodate. It is enough to say that 
this remarkable prosperity is unprecedented in the 
Province, and furnishes signal evidence of the estiaia- 
tion in which the excellent character of the Academy is 
held by the public, both Wesleyans and others — for 
admission to its privileges is open to all classes of the 
community. Another gratifying indication of the public 
sentiment and sympathy in favor of the school, is the 
fact of the generally free and practical response which 
is given to the calls of the worthy and active agent, 
Rev. Samuel D. Rice, for subscriptions and donations 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



199 



to liquidate a remaining debt, and to increase its ac- 
commodations. It is becoming and pleasing to add, 
that the Institution is receiving a grant of one hundred 
and fifty pounds per annum from the Nova Scotia 
Legislature, and one of three hundred pounds per 
annum from the New-Brunswick Legislature. 

Early in January, 1843, Mr. and Mrs. Pickard, with 
their child, removed from St. John, amid the regrets 
of personal friends, to their apartments in the Acade- 
my. With due precaution in the arrangement of their 
travelling accommodations, Mrs. Pickard and infant 
made this journey of 130 miles, in the depth of winter, 
with entire comfort. Some pleasing account of the 
journey, as of other matters, will be found in extracts 
of a letter to her sister, written after their settlement. 
The school, as will be perceived, was opened on the 
19th of January, with private devotional exercises, the 
public and formal commencement being deferred till a 
more suitable occasion. 

Wesletan Academy, Sackville, Feb. 14, 1843. 
My dear, dear Sister, 

I will leave my poor apology for delay, and try to 
turn back over the long time since I last wrote you. 
I think I informed you that we were then soon to go 
to Mr. Owens' hospitable mansion. We were there, 
enjoying every comfort which they could devise for us, 
some more than a week ; and left them on the day ap- 
pointed, receiving, to the last moment, every demon- 
stration of interesjt and affection which could be im- 
parted. The day was exceedingly cold. I never 



200 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



before saw such royal indications of cold ; truly, we 
seemed to be in the territory of old King Winter. 
Humphrey had the livery on. all day. He travelled 
outside with the driver, very actively and kindly look- 
ing in upon us with his coat white, his hair and Whiskers 
hoary with frost, even his eyebrows and eyelashes ici- 
cled! I scarcely recognized him. You will wonder 
then, what became of our poor little babe, and my 
shivering self ; well, I must tell you, I think Humphrey 
smuggled us througli altogether without tribute, or the 
slightest knowledge of that " lynch " officer, J. Frost. 
The baby vy^as generally sleeping, and waked, I think, 
to but one trouble — his many envelopes ; I was not 
cold for a moment. Humphrey had previously sent 
on word of our coming, so the way was all prepared ; 
we, every where, found good fires, ready food, a warm 
bed-room, etc. We had a capital Yankee driver, who 
of course, kept ahead " of the mail stage, and boasted 
very slily and knowingly, of his much better " commo- 
dations." It was very easy to discern the family 
likeness here, especially when I heard him say, " The 
musquetoes bite pretty sharp to-night." I could hard- 
ly help exclaiming, " Why, how do you do, brother 
Jonathan, I am glad to see you here." When he land- 
ed us at our new quarters, shut up his snug little coach, 
and drove smackingly off towards St. John, in my 
heart I wished him good luck, and, some time, a return 
to his native land. 

On our arrival, I found three servants already em- 
ployed in the house, doing what they could towards 
putting it in order ; but, as in all this time, no tidings 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



201 



had arrived of the long expected vessel which was to 
bring much of the necessary furniture,* little could be 
done. We were no sooner here, than Mr. Allison ap- 
peared with his horse and sleigh to take us to his house, 
until we could be more pleasantly situated in the In- 
stitution. Words declining were thrown away, and 
there we were again, receiving a generous hospitality 
more than a week. 

The school was opened on the 19th of January, 
without any ceremony ; that, you will recollect, is de- 
ferred until next June; the present is but a private 
matter of a Term. There w^ere five " Missionaries," 
the Rev. Messrs. Williams, Shepard, Wilson, Rice and 
Pickard, present, and Mr. and Mrs. Allison, m.yself, 
Mr. Hea, and seven students. Appropriate Scriptures 
were read, and several fervent prayers were offered ; 
we w^ere sure, by the sacred influence of the hour, that 
they w^ere recorded on High. Mr. Allison was, during 
all, the picture of quiet gratification, and his wife re- 
flected his image. ' After the services ceased, the little 
company remained to tea with us, and through the 
evening, mutually enlivening and enlivened by the 
handsome drawing-room in which we were assembled. 

We have now fifteen students in family, and thirty 
included in the school — numbers exceeding the ex- 
pectations of the friends, for the season and the cir- 
cumstances. Mr. P. and myself make the head of our 
happy, social circle at table. Our hours are, of course, 

* The vessel, with the furniture from England, was lost at sea ; 
but they had comfortable temporary supplies, till the furniture, re- 
ordered, arrived in the spring. 



202 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



systematic. All things are very comfortable, and more 
than that. 

O, what would I not give to see you ! such chats as 
I do sometimes hold with you, and laugh to myself 
meantime, and get so excited — but, ah, how soon the 
charm is broken. I am alone a great deal, except the 
baby and his quiet nurse, as Humphrey is constantly 
hurried with duties. He has recitations to attend to 
from eight in the morning, till half-past four at even- 
ing; these, together with the Magazine which he still 
edits, some domestic cares, and general supervision, as 
you may well suppose, keep him constantly employed. 
When shall we meet again ? O Emma, I cannot tell 
you how much I think and feel about you. My heart 
almost breaks when I think of you and father— ^oof^ 
father' — words are nothing to my purpose; but you 
will believe me your most affectionate sister, and he 
must think of me as much as ever alive to his interests 
and comfort. May his life be long and blessed ! If I 
begin to individualize, I should be glad to add many 
names in precious remembrance, but space forbids. 
Your children — dear little fellows — are, of course, 
to my mind, included in almost every thought of you. 
Tell Edward and Francis, I think of them many times 
every day, and can see just how they look. I thought 
of them and of you all, the night the baby was baptized, 
and wished you were by. It was on Christmas even- 
ing at St. John ; the Chapel was densely and beautifully 
decorated with evergreens ; the railing of the altar be- 
fore which we stood, was entwined, and the fine marble 
fountain from which he was sprinkled, was lightly 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



203 



wreathed with them — these things, of course, were not 
in my thoughts then, definitely, yet they did deUghtfully 
harmonize with all that was beautiful in the scene, and 
come up with very pleasant association in memory. I 
-thought of you, and of those whose presence I almost 
realized as there, with the words w^hich came suddenly 
to mind, seeing we also are compassed about with so 
great a cloud of witnesses ; " — this seemed true, and 
yet I felt alone, so far as. the congregation were con- 
cerned. The little Edward Dwight was very quiet all 
the time. He never looked half as handsome before. 
I wish you could see him now; there he is fast asleep 
in the corner, fair and plump and rosy cheeked, sweet 
as a new lily bud ; almost always wakes smihng — he 
is indeed a good little one. He has changed much in 
resemblances since you saw him. You will smile, but 
he does look like mother ; many times a day he brings 

1 her instantaneously to mind, and his whole face often 
seems suffused with expression like hers, that has a 
strange effect upon me. I chill, and almost imagine 

I iiim a spirit. I always feel as if he were not to live 
long. But I know not how I could survive the loss of 

I him, he is such a pure comfort. 

I run on most confusedly, and here I am now at the 

I place for closing the letter, without having noticed what, 

j from interest to me, belongs on the first page — the 
state of your health, and allusions to your family cir- 
cumstances. How is father now, and mother — I 
thank her a thousand times for her kind interest in me 
and the baby, and remember with much gratitude, her 
efforts to please and cheer me last summer. Much of 



204 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



the time, lately, I find it very difficult to realize that 
you are, any of you, alive — it is a sad impression, and 
often almost weighs me down. In the warm season, 
packets are every week, passing from here to Boston, 
so, I think, I shall not then feel myself to be so very 
distant from you. Yours truly, 

Hannah. 

Mrs. Pickard had more than a merely relative con- 
nection with the Institution. She not only longed for 
its prosperity, and felt happy in their connection with 
its interests, but she exerted herself, to the utmost, to 
promote the happiness of its pupils, and to maintain 
the economy, efficiency and satisfactoriness of its inter- 
nal, domestic arrangements. " She properly regarded 
"the Institution," says her husband, " as the child of 
Providence, and one which might be rendered a very 
great blessing to the world ; and, therefore, she truly 
devoted herself, with self-sacrificing zeal, to the pro- 
motion of its interests. As the plans of the managing 
Committee in reference to the domestic department, 
could not be conveniently carried immediately into 
effect, she cheerfully undertook to superintend the fur- 
nishing of the house, and also the charge of that de- 
partment for the first term. This service she performed 
with distinguished success. She was very anxious that 
the Institution should obtain a character, in all respects, 
worthy of its origin ; and she justly judged that very 
much, for some time to come, would depend upon the 
history of the first term. The Academy owes very 
much of its prosperity to her well-formed plans, her 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



205 



skill and judicious management, and her general influ- 
ence. She studied to have the domestic arrangements 
such, that the pupils would feel as little as possible 
the absence of the peculiar comforts of their own 
homes ; and all of them v/ere contented and comforta- 
ble. Towards the younger members of the Academi- 
cal family, she cherished, and in every possible way 
manifested, all but maternal affection ; towards the 
older ones, the warm, disinterested kindness of a de- 
voted sister. From the first day of her connection with 
it until her death, she was, from principle and feeling, 
identified with the interests of the Academy, and spared 
not herself in striving for its success." Being so fully 
occupied with her own domestic cares, and those of 
the establishment, she had no opportunity to continue 
the practice of even occasional journalizing, and after 
her removal to Sackville, I find but one, a very precious 
record, made not a great while before her death. She. 
however wrote considerably, by way of correspon- 
dence, and an occasional article for the Magazine, and 
in the preparation of the manuscript of the " Widow's 
Jewels." 

The affectionate anxiety of her nature was awaken- 
ed, by a letter from her sister, informing her that her 
father had been dangerously sick ; and she gave ex- 
pression to her feelings in a sympathetic letter to him, 
from which so much is extracted as relates to that 
event. 

''March 6th, 1843. My dear Father. — On the 
evening of the 2d inst. I received a letter from Emma, 
18 



206 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



informing me of a dangerous illness through which you 
have passed since I had last heard from you. O, how 
my heart was pained about it ; you have almost con- 
stantly been in my thoughts since then ; and although 
she assured me that you were restored nearly to your 
wonted health, I yet have continued anxiety on your 
account. My emotions, while I now again write to 
you, are indescribable. Surely, my good father, God 
was merciful to raise you up, even though it were mer- 
cy shown only to me. I know not how I could have 
endured the thought that you, too, were really removed 
from earth — that I could never, never again look upon 
you, or administer a moment's pleasure or comfort to 
you, who have always done so much for me. No, 
father, though I know you have had a rather stormy 
and adverse passage in life thus far, and that to live 
would probably be but to continue your trials, while to 
die would, I doubt not, to you be gain, yet my faith 
would hardly put her hand to your reprieve.' I 
would, selfishly indeed, keep you here, that I may once 
in a while see you, when permitted to visit the place 
of my former home, and know, from day to day, that 
you are still hving there ; and yet I know that the time 
must be, when you will be seen no more on earth, and 
unless my removal should first come, I shall have to 
feel the sorrow inevitable of this. It has awakened in 
my mind, more gloomy thoughts concerning our pres- 
ent separation, than I have ever before experienced. 
Though I have ever felt this deeply, yet I have but lit- 
tle realized the certain arrival of a period, when, in 
some future visit, you would not be one of the number 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



207 



to hasten to meet me. O, what a chill comes over 
my heart when I think of it ; it seems to be more 
than I could bear ; but I need not, I will not pain my- 
self in imagining such an hour. God has graciously 
spared you now, and I will try even to forget that I 
cannot many times go and come, and find all un- 
changed ; or that you, my dear father, may be taken 
away in an hour which I know not of, when I should 
be too far away to hope to be with you, even at the 
last. May God bless you abundantly, and spare your 
life, is the warm response of my heart at every thought 
of you. I am thankful for the gratifying manifestations 
of friendship which you received, and in this matter, I 
can say with pleasure, inasmuch as it w^as done to you, 
it was done to me. Please remember me gratefully to 
those kind friends in this respect. I am thankful too, 
for the peaceful state of your mind, in the moment of 
your danger. I fear no evil for you ; living or dying, 
I trust you are the Lord's. I can only effectually si- 
lence my murmuring thoughts at the separation of our 
lot in time, by a glance to eternity, where this trial 
will 

' Fly forgotten, 
As a dream dies at the opening day.' 

< Remember me.' — We will live in love to each other, 
and believe that death itself cannot destroy this love.'^ 

Among the friends who so kindly sympathized with 
her in the afflictions to which she had been subjected, 
the Miss Patten, already mentioned, was high on the 



208 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



list, to whom, in this letter to her father, she addressed 
the brief, though characteristic note following ; 

Dear Catharine, — I cannot resist the temptation 
of sending you a ' miniature ' scale of my thoughts of 
you ; but I am so apt to wander wide, to try forbidden 
paths, that I may go over the whole of this little en- 
closure, and yet leave almost all unsaid which I would 
wish to say. I am very far away from you, yet you 
would be surprised to know how often I am really with 
you. There is a quiet little domain, unmeasured by 
miles, unruled by change or absence, to which I often 
resort, and find pleasure with the few Boston friends 
whom I much love. First, T there meet my honored 
and beloved father, and our own family circle, then those 
always most welcome in it, and now most dear to me 
from association with mother'' s sweet memory. I ca 
not tell you how unalterably I feel myself interested and 
connected with such ; it is ever delightful to think about 
them. I need not attempt to specify here^ — but your- 
self, Catharine, I place among the very first ; Pamelia 
and Anne, [Miss Anne Nutting,] Mrs. Motley and Dr„ 
Snow seem nearest, as linked in memory with the last 
days of her fife. Then come others, belonging to 
other scenes, of whom I wish I knew now more par- 
ticularly. Then again, (many in one,) the ' Friendly 
society I have as much interest in its prosperity as 
at any period of my connection with it. So you have 
had a 'tea meeting!' I give you joy. I knew you 
could but succeed well in it. Did you ever know a 
Wesleyan scheme to fail ? I give you great credit 
for your courage and perseverance. How delightedly 



HANNAH PICKARD. 



209 



my eyes lingered again and again upon the account of 
it in the Herald ; and how gladly would I have given 
the price of a dozen tickets to have been one of the 
favored company. But I must banish such thoughts, 
I have my blessings, my duties — you have yours, 
awhile — then comes the end. Here our banished 
thoughts may rest. 

A summons has come for my letter, please excuse all. 
Very truly yours, Hannah. 

Thus did she continue most tenderly to cherish the 
warmest affection for her friends and kindred in her 
own beloved land. But she was cheerful and happy in 
her discharge of the duties assigned her by Providence ; 
and felt and manifested for those whom Providence 
had made her kindred and friends in her adopted 
country, the sincere and ardent attachment of a gen- 
erous and affectionate heart. Speaking of her relation 
to them, she says in a letter to Mr. Pickard's sisters, 
Mrs. Coburn and Mrs. Smith ; 

" I hope you will frequently send your thoughts 
after us. I often feel very unworthy of any claim to 
your affection, yet I would gladly win it. Let us love 
like sisters. You seem peculiarly near to me for 
Humphrey's sake, and highly esteemed for your own. 
I can scarcely realize that there was ever a time in 
which we had not the same relationship which we now 
hold to each other." 



She renewed the expression of her kindred feehngs 
18* 



210 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



in a letter to Mrs. Coburn, dated April 15th, in which 
she also expresses her deep interest in Mrs. C.'s reli- 
gious state, and discloses somewhat of her own. 

My dear Sister.— Your very kind letter to me of 
the 2d inst., was duly and most welcomely received. 
I am sure I cannot express to you the true comfort it 
gave me ; nor do I design these few lines as any thing 
by way of return or compensation for your favor. It 
is Saturday afternoon, hastening to night, and there 
are some domestic matters which will need obtrude to 
shorten my converse with you now ; please to expect 
little where little can be given. 

Before the arrival of your letter, I had been wishing 
long for it, and was much gratified to learn that all 
within your home are well ; but would that I could see 
you. I never wished it more than now — how much 
I would like to talk long and freely with you upon that 
subject in which you appear so interested. You ask 
my views about it ; but had I time and space I could 
not satisfy myself in communicating them. How I 
should like to have you here, that we might question 
and reply with each other. There is something like a 
charm to me in the very word ' Holiness ;' and when 
I hear it alluded to, I can compare my emotions to 
nothing else so well, as to those produced by messages 
from home — so welcome, so pleasant. My mind has 
been, of late, almost constantly desirous to attain the 
blessing, and often eager for it ; yet'it seems to myself 
hypocrisy and inconsistency for me to expect it. I am 
so strongly under unrighteous dominion, that shadows 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



•211 



of despair sometimes enclose me, not only relative to 
this, but covering every hope of heaven. Sometimes 
I receive delightfully applied words of scripture which 
bring with them lucid intervals, and almost kindle faith 
to be saved from all. 

' But, ah ! how soon it dies away.' I am thankful 
that I feel that nothing but holiness can save, or is to 
me truly desirable. I am thankful for your prayers ; 
you have mine, especially since your last communica- 
tion. You may well hope. I believe you may en- 
courage yourself in the Lord, not only rejoicing in the 
grace wherein you stand, but in hope of what shall be 
revealed in you. Pleasd^o write soon again. 

I am happy that we are to expect our honored 
father and perhaps Mrs. P. with him ; it will give me 
great pleasure. How is sister E. ? You tell me noth- 
ing of her, and she tells me nothing herself. I hope 
she and Mr. Smith are on the hsts for summer too. 
Please to remember me to them affectionately. Thom- 
as we are soon to see. I will reserve all compliments 
for himself till then. Of course, it is more than com- 
mon compliments, I send you all. Love to Mr. Coburn 
and the children. Truly yours, 

H. M. P. 

It is gratifying to find that though our sister had 
not, at this time, the evidence of full acceptance, she, 
nevertheless, maintained her interest in the subject, 
and love for its enjoyment. It was now long since, 
through temptation and unbelief, she had forfeited this 
evidence ; but she could neither excuse herself, nor be 



212 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



happy, in its loss. If the Savior upbraided his disci- 
ples for their unbelief, easily may we suppose that her 
heart did not fail to upbraid her, when we consider the 
blessed light of experience in which she had formerly 
walked. She realized, indeed, the guilt and danger of 
remaining thus destitute of the Spirit's testimony ; and 
was led, at last, by the force of this conviction, to 
renewed dedication of herself to God, and renewed 
faith in the all-sufficient merit of Jesus' blood. It 
was not, however, till the latter part of this year that 
she obtained again the "full assurance of faith and 
hope." 

At the close of the term, an(# during the session of the 
District meeting in St. John, whither she accompanied 
husband, she made an unexpected and hasty visit to 
her friends in Boston and Chelsea. Her health had 
somevv'hat declined, through the severity of the climate, 
her ceaseless attention to the comfort of her family, 
and her generous anxiety for the prosperity of the In- 
stitution ; and it was hoped that the voyage would 
prove beneficial, though her visit should be brief. She 
arrived in Boston, on Friday morning, and set out on 
her return by the same boat, the next day in the after- 
noon. Her return was hastened in order that she 
might accompany her husband to Sackville, where 
preparations were to be made for the appointed com- 
mencement of the Academy, and for the Inauguration 
of the Principal. This short interview was full of 
interest to her, and equally gratifying to her family. 
To them the remembrance of it affords a melancholy 
satisfaction, as it was the last time they were permitted 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



213 



to look upon her beloved form, and to enjoy the delight 
of her society. 

The formal opening of the Academy took place on 
the 29th of June, on which interesting occasion, Mrs. 
Pickard shared in the general high feeling of pleasure 
and gratitude which was inspired by the services and 
circumstances of the day. Nor was her interest lim- 
ited to feeling, but in the agreeable and delicate atten- 
tions with which she received and entertained, in the 
drawing-room, and at table, a numerous company of 
visitors, she shed a delightful influence to complete the 
pleasure of the ceremony. 

With the same humble and childlike submission to 
Providential guidance, as had before characterized her 
spirit, and with untiring devotion to the duties which 
seemed necessarily to devolve on her in consequence of 
the illness of Mrs. Des Brisay, wife of the Governor and 
Chaplain, she continued to contribute the full measure 
of her ability to the prosperity of the Institution. The 
great desire of her life in latter years had been to. be 
useful ; and she thought that in no situation had she 
been placed where she could do as much good as in 
the one which she now occupied. She, therefore, 
cheerfully fulfilled her allotted labors, and rejoiced to 
anticipate a time, which seemed to her not distant, 
when she should find rest from all her toils in a sweet 
home on high. While thus satisfying her own mind 
in the discharge of duty, she was winning the highest 
esteem, and fondest regard of all around her, by the 
true modesty, and humility, and unaffected grace, of 
her temper and deportment. To the family of the 



*214 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



Governor and Chaplain, of the Missionary on the Cir- 
cuit, and of the several friends w^ho frequented the 
Academy, as well as to the whole Academical family, 
she became most affectionately endeared. Even the 
farmers' wives, who merely brought to the Institution 
the produce of their farms for sale, would make the 
familiar yet significant remark, " I never saw so taking 
a woman as Mrs. Pickard." An observation which 
she made to Mrs. Des Brisay, distinctly indicates the 
profound sense which she had of her ow^n imperfec- 
tions, as well as the sincere charity with which she 
would excuse the faults of others. " When I look," 
said she, " at my own deficiencies, I cannot bear to 
reprove the faults of my domestics." 

She most eagerly enjoyed the services of the sanctu- 
ary ; and, in the midst of her engagements, found time, 
too, to attend the weekly class, in which she was mu- 
tually blessing and blessed. She had for her leader an 
aged local preacher. Rev. Mr. Avard, who had fre- 
quently been a companion with Dr. Clarke, and had 
often listened to the discourses of the venerable John 
Wesley himself. With this aged servant of Christ, 
and his very intelligent wife — though a lady of ninety 
years — she took sweet counsel, and afforded them, in 
turn, refreshing consolation by the vivacity of her 
spirit, and the ardor of her piety. With what thrilling 
delight would tTiis old soldier of the cross recount the 
earlier days of Methodism ; and how does the sight of 
such an individual serve distinctly to mark the wonder- 
ful progress of the work of God, through the instru- 
mentahty of that honored and devoted servant of the 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



215 



Lord Jesus — the Rev. John Wesley. But little more 
than a century ago, the first Methodist society was 
formed in London, consisting of eight or ten members, 
and lo ! " What hath God wrought." O that as a 
people, our gratitude, and love, and zeal bore some due 
proportion to the wonders of His hand, and the bless- 
ings of His grace. 

The four following letters, or parts of letters, are the 
last but one which will be presented from her pen. 
They show that her heart of friendship was all alive 
to sentiments of affection, to remembered joys, and to 
scenes of tender interest. Her feeling on the subject 
of personal holiness very much increased during the 
latter part of this year ; and the reader will find in the 
next chapter, a most satisfactory relation of the renewal 
of her evidence of full redemption — a most valuable 
memorial, as it appears to be the last record which she 
ever made in her journal. It may be proper to ob- 
serve that these letters are, like herself, full of emotion, 
varying from the sportive and imaginative, to the most 
grave and devout. 

TO HER SISTER. 

August 8th, 1843. 

My dear Sister, — Mr. and Mrs. B. called this 
evening, and informed me that they should leave Sack- 
ville in the morning, for Boston ; the information 
almost distracted me for a few minutes, and, I beheve, 
I am scarcely recovered yet. We are getting on very 
pleasantly ; my health is improving. I hope you can 



216 MEMOIR OF MRS. 

give me as good a report of yourself and Edward. 1 
often disturb myself, when I might be very happy, 
about some of you. I cannot give one of you up ; I 
think I love you the more the longer I live. I hope 
father will write to me, if it be but a few lines, tell 
him — for old acquaintance sake. Has Joanna been 
on yet, this summer ? I would be glad to see her once 
again. Give love to Sarah (Mrs. Sarah Maynard) and 
family. Give much love to the little boys ; tell them 
I can think of but one incident for them. 

A few days ago — one Saturday, about sunset, as 
Mr. P. and I were returning from a visit, five or six 
miles from home, we passed through a piece of woods 
which had been burnt sometime before. The trees 
were still standing without a leaf from root to top, and 
stumps stood thick between ; they had become white 
by the rain and sun. As we came near we heard a 
noise, and there were collected thousands of crows — 
every branch and stump was occupied by these black- 
coats for acres ; and the greatest ' cawing' there was : 
every one in the assembly was speaking his mind. 
And they were coming in files from every direction. 
Long after we left them, we met a party of them high 
up in the clouds, beating their way along towards the 
place of meeting; these seemed like strangers, and 
once appeared to lose their track, but soon turned 
again, and kept steadily on in the right direction. We 
were much interested to think about the matter. We 
concluded that all the crows in the district must have 
been present. Edward and Franky can talk about it, 
and conjecture what brought them all together. They 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



217 



must have come by appointment toOj else they could 
not all have been there ; they must also have known 
the time and place. If the children enjoy querying 
about it, as much as we did, they will not be sorry I 
told them of it. The next morning three crows came 
and lighted on the fence near my window. My first 
impulse was to ask them, ivhat ivas the meeting about? 
for no doubt they were there. But they seemed well 
satisfied to keep the secret, among themselves, strutted 
about a few minutes, and then flew off to enjoy some 
potato-tops. 

Last evening I scribbled on thus far, and suppose I 
must send it as it is. Remember me to Mrs. Town, 
Tell her I think of her often. . I can always hear her 
voice, and see her eyes sparkling. I hope she is well. 
When shall we meet again ? Sometimes I think. Gen- 
eral Conference is a very attractive affair: But it is 
nothing that concerns me, you know. 

With much affection, Yours truly, 

H. M. PiCKARD. 

TO Miss HILL. 

Sept. 13, 1843. 

Dear Pajielia, 

A favorable moment, and a favorable opportunity 
of communication with you, now smile upon me, which 
I gladly accept, though the moment should stay no 
longer than to permit me to assure you that I have not 
forgotten the kindest, best-loved friend I ever had be- 
yond the limits of our own family. Often I think of 
19 



218 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



you with tears of affectionate remembrance ; and^ 
though I may never be allowed to do more than this^ 
I shall love to do this until we meet where tears are 
no more a symbol of sacred remembrance and affec- 
tion ; there we shall surely soon meet — how sweet 
the thought ! 

I think, aside from your disinterested kindness, one 
thing which will ever associate you to my mind in 
most distinguished, sweet remembrance, is this picture 
of mother ever before me, and the connected scenes. 
I can forget Boston — all its beauty and its business, 
but I cannot forget you and other kind friends so as- 
sociated. 

I hope to hear, through father or Emma, that you are 
well, being in every way much benefitted by your 
journey westward ; and that you have restored comfort 
and facility in pursuing your blessed art, which can 
immortalize." Poor Catharine, I am truly pained for 
her. She has been the faithful and hospitable nurse 
of invalids ; I hope the hand of sickness may press but 
lightly upon her. We should in vain try to supply 
her place in society. When she returns, please to re- 
member me most affectionately to her, as one very 
earnestly desirous for her long life and happiness ; the 
last, however, if need be, without the first. 

Present grateful remembrance to Mrs. Motley and 
family, when you have opportunity ; to Anne also. If 
her mother did not require her presence, I should be 
at once soliciting her society with us for as many 
months as she would please. Regards to B. F. N. 
also. Mr. Pickard desires to be especially mentioned 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



219 



to his friend, Miss Hill. He always joins with much 
interest in conversations of you, and often interrupts a 
silence by wishing you were here. The second anni- 
versary of your service to us is fast approaching, and 
finds us both well, pleasingly employed, and with an 
accumulated amount of happiness to the last. I hope 
all our friends of other days are well and happy. 

Dear Pamelia, many things are in my heart to say 
to you. Gladly could I fill up these small pages 
with words drawn from that source ; but the moment 
has fled. Summoning all in an ardent wish for the 
prosperity of whatever appertains to you, believe me, 
Most affectionately, 

Your true friend, 

H. M. T. PiCKARD, 
rO HER SISTER. 

Oct. 31st, 1843. 

My dear Sister, 

I perceive that your last good, though hasty letter 
bears date of 28th Sept.; and, at this long interval 
from that, I seize a few wearied moments, and the best 
materials I have at hand, to say a few words to you ; 
manner and execution we long ago proved to be vain 
in comparison with the indispensable and acceptable 
spirit. I may premise that we are very well ; would, 
indeed, that I could look in upon you or father, or 
both, to-night, and know how you are each situated. 

Let me give you some idea of our late journey. 
[To Fredericton.] We left home at the appointed 



220 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



time with a fine morning sky, two good horses, and a 
covered carriage — it might not have been mistaken, 
on scrutiny, for one of the Governor' suite, but it was 
very suitable, and comfortable as a bird's nest. Caro- 
line, with the baby and myself occupied the back seat, 
and Mr. Pickard the front with whip and reins. The 
trip altogether was new to me. Across land to Fred- 
ericton the distance is about two hundred miles. We 
went one way, and returned another. The roads 
across the province are well made, but, for the most 
part, leading through portions of country unsettled, or 
sparsely peopled, with here and there a log hut, or pos- 
sibly an assemblage of them, occupied by a community 
of French people, who, in prevailing costume, lift their 
straw hats, and pass a bon jour " to each traveller as 
he gazes after them. Almost limitless tracts of forest 
were sometimes around and in sight of us, the oldest^ 
and darkest, and wildest, upon which axe had niever 
been lifted. So dense it was, that I could easily 
imagine it might some time become a coal mine, for it 
would be strange indeed, that it should ever fall before 
any other speculation. As we passed along, we got 
no sight of the citizen-animals, save one bald eagle 
upon a leafless tree, one partridge, and a fox as he 
leaped over some high ferns. One morning we saw 
in the road, the remnants of a sheep, upon which we 
concluded a bear had made his early repast ; none, 
however, had crossed our path. With every thing fa~ 
vorable, and well accommodated when we stopped for 
entertainment, we had a truly pleasant time, and 
reached the beautiful town of Fredericton on the 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



221 



third day. We were there about a week, visiting con- 
stantly ; then put our horses, etc. on board the steam- 
boat, and came to St. John, where we passed one day 
only with our very valuable friends, Mr. and Mrs. 
Owens. From their house we were out some more 
than two days, in the most pelting rain storm with 
which the country has been visited for years. It 
seemed almost true, that the fountains of the deep had 
been broken up once more, as all high lands were 
pouring with water, and all low lands looked like lakes. 
The last part of our way, the roads became quite fear- 
ful from the injury to bridges, and from the depth of 
water we were obliged to ford ; it appeared almost that 
" our lives were in our hands." I did then and still 
do realize that had not the hand of the Almighty been 
with us emphatically, we could not have reached our 
home so comfortably and so safely. 

I cannot but believe that He has work here for us 
to do, and especially designed ; — it is a solace and a 
confidence to me, whenever I am tempted to desire 
some other situation, or to become disheartened at the 
difficulties of this. Had not my previous education, 
and circumstances in life been such as they were, I am 
persuaded I could never have been as useful in the 
place which I now fill ; and as I think of that evident 
preparation, and doubt whether I was ever doing more 
good than now, I can neither repine at nor resist the 
Providence which has placed me here. I would stili 
infinitely rather move as He directs, though it may be 
across other inclinations, than attempt to make out my 
own way. Let Him do as He likes. 
19* 



222 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



Sometimes Humphrey talks of going next summer 
to be at the Commencement at Middletown, or at Gen- 
eral Conference, but I think it most doubtful ; at least, 
I dare not flatter myself with the delight. I fear H. 
would never consent to my commencing the journey 
alone. You know, I never think about it at all, yet 
^' we shall see." But if you come, it will the more 
reconcile me ; indeed I don't think I should give it up 
without effort, should you disappoint me. O what 
should we say to each other ? I must not think of it. 
I should soon begin to ask, Shall we ever live near 
each other again ? perhaps, a sadder question, Shall 
we ever meet again ? Do now, Emma, write me a 
good, full letter, whenever you can get time; tell m.e 
all about yourselves, and this one and that one. Love 
to all yours and ours. 

Truly your obliged and loving sister, 

Hannah.. 

to mrs. owens, 

Nov. 1843. 

My dear Mrs. Owens. 

Your last affectionate letter did me a great deal 
of good, as do all the tokens of favor I receive at your 
hand. I am sure I am thankful to my heavenly Father 
for so kind a friend, and I cannot allow this opportu-^ 
nity to pass, without telhng you so, although it may 
seem like the thousand compliments which are consid- 
ered becoming in letters of ordinary sentiment. How 
often, indeed, I have thought of you, since our brief 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



223 



interview in Portland. I always, in fancy, see you as 
you stood in the open door, with hands spread so cor- 
dially towards me, as I walked up the garden ; I felt 
then as if I could not speak. It was so much as I had 
often seen my blessed mother meet me, that, together 
with the welcome, and your peculiar personal resem- 
blance to her, my heart filled, and I can never recall 
the scene without tears. 

If you can favor me with a few lines by Mr. Allison, 
I shall be very glad, and I hope to hear that your 
health is better than when you last wrote. I hope that 
you may long yet be spared to promote so successfully 
the happiness of your family, and to diffuse the bless- 
ings of which God makes you steward. I cannot but 
consider you in your circumstances and happy relations 
in life, as marked with His especial favor ; and I trust 
that this favor reaches not alone through the life which 
now is, but onward, O the thought ! through the scenes 
of eternity. Of present realities, we judge by outward 
signs ; but of the future possessions, and true riches in 
that better world, the testimony of our claim is only 
with the secrets of the heart. I trust you have there 
an unfailing one, read ever by the eye of Him who 
seeth in secret. There is also a " full assurance of 
hope" given to perfect faith, to which you alluded in 
your last letter, which does remove all fear and painful 
doubt. When I read your expressions of desire for 
this, I did, indeed, long to see you, as possessing feel- 
ings consonant with my own. God withholds no grace 
from persevering, faithful prayer. Let us then draw 
near to Him, moment by moment, in that "full assur- 



224 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



ance of faith," and take continually the blessing which 
He gives. In Christ He gives us all things, pardon, 
and holiness, and Heaven." I would rejoice to see 
you standing in this grace, and shedding around you 
the influence of a sanctified life. O, remember the 
"price" of our redemption, and first, in the spirit of 
humble, entire consecration, 

"Into His hands all things resign," 

and then take the abounding mercy which follows. 

Excuse me, my dear friend ; it ill accords, I know, 
with my own worth as a Christian, to attempt to teach 
others in this matter; but, seeing its vast importance, 
in the spirit of obligation to Him, I testify to you His 
faithfulness and truth. I could write long upon the 
subject, would time and present engagements permit. 
May the Spirit lead you and yours into all truth. I 
love to think that we shall live together again in Eter- 
nity. 

I thank you again for your kind thoughts concerning 
us. We are in usual health. I think I bear up under 
the burden which comes upon me, better than Mr. P. 
does with his accumulated labors. We have now 
nearly fifty, in all, in family ; and, although I have 
never yet come to a moment, which did not bring its 
particular care, I, as well as the others, appear to be 
getting on very comfortably. You will doubtless see 
Mr. Allison, and may learn from him more definitely, 
of our affairs. 

Mrs. Des Brisay still continues very comfortable ; I 
think quite as well as at any period of her residence 



HANNAH M, PICKARD. 



225 



here. Mr. Des Brisay is also better than earUer in the 
season. They would both, I am sure, desire particular 
remembrance to you, as they often speak of you both 
as in especial regard. Do not forget me to Mr. Owens, 
and Miss Sarah ; I ever place them among my best 
loved friends — as well as the other members of your 
family. To Mr. and Mrs. Duncan, and Mr. Barber, 
please to present my best regards. I will not burden 
you with messages to other friends, though, there are 
many whom I esteem — some who are with me in 
warm remembrance. I remain most affectionately, 

Your obliged friend, 

H. M. PiCKARD. 



226 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



CHAPTER XII. 

Regains the enjoyment of perfect love. Last letter. Birth of 
another boy. Death of the infant. Her anticipated recovery 
and visit. Her sudden death. Letters of Mr, Pickard, detailing 
the circumstances. Reflections on her death. Testimonials of 
affectionate respect. 

In the Autumn of 1843, Mrs. Pickard became ex- 
ceedingly solicitous to regain the full enjoyment of 
perfect love." She had formed a somewhat familiar 
acquaintance with Mrs. Des Brisay, to whom she freely 
expressed her feelings. Frequent conversations on this 
subject ripened their intercourse into most intimate 
and endearing friendship. Both resided under the 
same roof ; and as the charge of her numerous family 
prevented Mrs. Pickard from much out-door visiting, 
she found a ready and abundant sympathy in Mrs. 
Des Brisay, who entered with great personal interest 
into the relation of her spiritual desires and exercises, i 
Christian holiness formed the chief subject of her com- 
munication with her familiar friend ; and thus she 
showed that, though obliged to devote much outward 
attention to other things, her thoughts were engrossed 
with matters of far greater consequence. For some 
time she struggled hard with temptation and unbelief, 
until, at length, she found complete deliverance from 



HANISAH M. PICKAUD. 



227 



every painful doubt and fear, and was enabled to re- 
joice in the unclouded testimony of full acceptance 
with God. The news of this joyful event she soon 
communicated to her friend, who was greatly affected 
and edified by the clear and circumstantial character 
of her experience. The blessing which she sought, 
she found in the same way as before ; but retained it 
in peace and comfort, all through the remainder of her 
life. We are favored with her own relation of this 
point in her history — the last record which she made 
in her journal. It exhibits a delightful example of per- 
severing prayer, and of appropriating faith, and certain- 
ly serves to chide the lukewarmness of ordinary Chris- 
tians. The day of the month is not given. 

"Saturday night, Nov. 1843. — A week of unusual 
profit and peace is now closing around me ; how de- 
lightful the thought, that in Heaven, that abode of 
purity and highest peace, this brief record of my un- 
worthy life may enter without discordance. Long has 
it been since so favored a portion of time has been 
mine ; and now, not by any worthiness of my own, but 
by the gift of faith, I have this inestimable inherit- 
ance. Temptations abound, but grace does much more 
abound. I give myself to God, in a perpetual, un- 
conditional covenant, and He has become mine in His 
atonement, in His blessed spirit, in the consolations of 
renewed adoption. 

Convinced of the sin and of the loss of remaining 
without the witness of entire dedication, I did firmly 
and fully resolve to give up all to God, to do His will 



228 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



and not my own, henceforth. I doubt not that the 
Sphit of God did indeed lead me thus far, but through 
unbeUef I followed not on to the evidence of full ac- 
ceptance. I continued, nevertheless, very much to 
desire this, and from day to day, with more or less 
fervor of soul, renewed the consecration of my little all, 
until about four weeks had passed away. Meantime, 
frequently falling before sin, and realizing that every 
hindrance to my deliverance from the body of this 
death lay in myself, I almost despaired of deliverance 
from so deep and long continued evil. But O, I de- 
sired most earnestly to be the Lord's, for the sake of 
being His^ even though He should scarcely notice 
again, as among His children, one so useless and utterly 
unworthy as myself. Accordingly I ventured to repeat 
the words of formal consecration while at the throne 
of grace, feeling that if it should please the infinitely 
righteous God to bestow upon me through His Son 
peace and joy in believing, all were well ; but, if other- 
wise, all were well — I would still give myself to Him, 
knowing that 'all were right which He could do.' 
After doing this, however, I still lingered a little upon 
my knees, not for the purpose of asking any thing 
further then, but I wanted to be sure of my sincerity, 
and I wished God to be sure of it. I was prompted 
to say — 'The blood of Christ be a witness between 
me and Thee of this ;' and immediately followed, with 
a sweetness of application indescribable, the remem- 
brance of these words, ' For if the blood of bulls and 
of goats, and the ashes of an heifer sprinkling the un- 
clean, sanctifieth to the purifying of the flesh ; how 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



229 



much more shall the blood of Christ, who through the 
eternal Spirit offered himself without spot to God. 
purge your conscience from dead works to serve the 
living God.' My mind was satisfied, and rested in the 
efficacy of that blood, without a doubt. Since then 
I feel increasing nearness to God, and I long to be 
more lost in Him. 

' Only to live my God to love. 
My God to glorify.' 

I feel the Spirit with me, and long to be led by Him 
to greater grace." 

The following letter, which was the last received 
from her hand, exhibits a mental state so spiritual, so 
ethereal, as almost to appear like a premonition and an 
antedate of those wonderful realities which burst upon 
the soul, as it quits its earthly habitation, and soars to 
brighter worlds above. At the same time it contains 
such affectionate longings for the society of her beloved 
family, as make us grieve to think that they were never, 
to be realized. 

Sackville, N. B., Jan. 15, 1844. 
ft 

My ever dear Sister, 

Many, many days I have been in your debt, for 
an excellent and undeservedly affectionate letter; and, 
by each of the seldom mail opportunities which have 
intervened, have felt that I must do something in my 
poor way, which you would accept as an acknowl- 
20 



230 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



edgement and return. If you could read my daily 
thoughts about you, and know how heavily and fre- 
quently my spirit longs after you all, you would not 
suspect, though ''few and far between" my letters 
have been, that my joys had ceased to be connected 
with the joy of you all. You, w^ho are so faithful 
alike in your remembrances and letters, may then won- 
der why it is that I so seldom seek this most satisfactory 
mode of communication remaining to us. I cannot 
explain, but only say, that whenever I think of writing 
to you, I begin to get so sad, that, although I know I 
am sinning against the "golden rule," I still avail 
myself from time to time of the relief in this respect 
really afforded by delay. I wish it were otherwise, and 
know of no cause which may seem to justify it. I am 
not generally melancholy or discontented, only I have 
not forgotten you. My heart now^ breaks out in a 
prolonged exclamation O that I could see you to- 
night ; and while, for an instant, I catch something 
like a glimpse of you, and seem to meet you, the poor 
comfort passes away in all the uncertainty and conjec- 
ture of one, who knows but little, scarcely anything. 
Are you sick ? are you w^ell ? are you together in 
Chelsea, or in some other place ? And father, too, I 
often visit with similar questions, but with similar un- 
satisfactoriness. Well it must be so ; one real comfort 
remains which I do not forget. 

" One there is whose watchful eye 
Guides our humble destiny ; " 

and a bright anticipation stands out before me in the 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



231 



future with which conjecture and uncertainty may not 
intermeddle — where none say I am sick — where are 
no separations. The day seems very near ; the scenes 
very real. I was remarking yesterday to Humphrey, 
that, though never a " Millerite," I yet felt something 
like disappointment that the year had passed, and all 
things remained as they were. Without looking at the 
state of the world, I cannot but think how much better 
to be altogether "at home." Does it not seem so to 
you, Emma? Life is such a turmoil, and its close 
brings so calm a respite ; and then all, to be all together 
in freedom and rest with the pure in heart, is so de- 
sirable. Surely I am not sad in these thoughts, and I 
look upon my circumstances in life as being emphati- 
cally among the most favored of Eve's daughters ; but 
no circumstances of the present moment are to be 
compared with those which ''shall be revealed." I 
will not obtrude my reflections upon you ; I hope you 
will excuse them for occupying so early a place at 
least, but they came uppermost as my pen went on. 

I know of nothing to interest you much in our 
affairs at present, beyond what a few lines would com- 
municate to you, yet if your ear were accessible, no 
doubt I should often be making to you many relations 
which take to themselves consequence as they come 
and go. What is the employment of each day, you 
can in some degree imagine, when I tell you that I 
find each night that I have accomplished little more 
than watch the various operations of the domestic 
machinery over which I am placed. The house is a 
large one, and to get from one corner lo the otherj 



232 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



from the cellar kitchen to the chambers, back and forthj 
are journeys not to be performed without much demand 
upon time in themselves, to say nothing of the space 
necessary for revisions and directions given and en- 
forced, etc. Sometimes the wheels begin to drag heavi- 
ly, as I think this must continue another term ; but then 
as the prosperity of all seems to demand, I am happy in 
contributing my quota, magnified by circumstances, to 
the desirable object. H. gets into a fever often about it, 
and really seems to see my health declining, and days 
shortening ; but I am not so perceptive. My health is 
generally good, with my usual capability of resistance 
of colds and weariness. Do not be anxious ever on 
my account ; I am sure a special Providence attends 
my steps — -however it leads, I cheerfully resign myself 
as favored. 

Since commencing this letter I have been weighed 
down with severe cold, so that I was unable to finish 
it. The last mail which came brought me another letter 
from you ; it had been a fortnight on its way. It was, 
however, as if just from your hand. I could have 
cried, and believe I did, it was to me so unexpected and 
so desirable. I am rejoiced for all the good which at- 
tends you. Poor father, wealth could not buy me 
another pleasure like the gratification of seeing him ; 
but all is vague now to my mind about it. I cannot 
wait to explain, as H. has just been hurrying me lest I 
shall be too late for the mail ; but I do not see now 
how we can arrange to visit you together. I often 
think and speak of H.'s going on to General Confer- 
ence, and I do think he may go, I as often suppose 



HANNAH M. PICKARD, 



333 



he will scarcely consent to leave me behind, notwith- 
standing the obstacles which now show themselves in 
the distance. However, appearances and scenes change 
so many times, in so few months, that I am not dis- 
couraged at least, if I am sometimes delighted. Excuse 
H.'s hurry for this. Love to all, 

Hannah, 

Nothing further was heard from her till the latter 
part of February, when Mr« Pickard wrote us that she 
had given birth to another boy, on the 19th of that 
month, but was as well and comfortable as might be 
expected. In the same communication he informed 
us that the babe vvas an exceedingly frail and feeble 
child, and that fears were entertained of its early 
death. We were, therefore, not disappointed in re- 
ceiving the intelligence contained in the following note 
from him ; and at the same time, were highly gratified 
to learn that the prospect for the mother's safe recovery 
appeared every way promising. It quite relieved any 
anxiety which we had felt respecting her, and left no 
lingering doubt of her speedy restoration. The note 
is addressed to her sister. 

Sackville, March 1, l,844o 

My dear Sister, 

I did hope to secure moments enough to-day to 
write what might pass for a letter, at least, in the esti- 
mation of friendship — but here I am within a few 
minutes of mail time, and nothing done to secure the 
realization of my hope. But as Hannah says you will 
20* 



234 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



not be particular at such a time, and that you will be 
glad to receive even two or three lines which will tell 
you something about her, I will send you this little 
sheet. 

I am very glad that I can report favorably of the 
health of my invaluable wife, your excellent sister. 
She is gradually recovering, and is likely to do well. 
The little stranger is no longer with us — -he remained 
not quite a week ; he was born on Monday the 19th 
ult., at eleven and a half o'clock, A. M., and died on 
the following Monday morning, at half-past three 
o'clock. Hannah begins to sit up a little each day, 
but has been and continues weak. 

She sends her love to all, and wishes me to say that 
she has a good nurse, and every thing to render her 
recovery safe, etc.; that you must not forget your en- 
gagement to visit us this summer. If you will promise 
to return with us, perhaps we will take a run on in 
May. If you knew how Hannah longs for letters from 
Boston, you would write, I think, more frequently. 
I am, my dear sister, your unworthy 

but affectionate brother, 

H. PiCKARD. 

We had, indeed, thought seriously, sometimes, of 
visiting them the ensuing summer ; but the persuasion 
which we indulged from the intimation above given 
that they might come on in May, had led us to dismiss 
all present design of doing so that year. We felt a 
great degree of cheerfulness in the hope of hearing 
soon that her health was fully confirmed ; and began 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



235 



to anticipate the pleasure we should again enjoy in 
their society. We had had no intimation whatever, 
tha-t any settled disease preyed upon her, and could 
not but suppose that, after the usual term of weakness 
to which a constitution like hers would be subject, at 
such a time, she would recover her wonted health and 
strength. We knew that her physical system was 
frail, and that her labors had been arduous ; but as 
she had constantly affirmed her adequacy to the task,^ 
and her belief in its providential allotment as her duty, 
and as we knew her husband's desire for her greater 
ease and comfort, we had yielded her to care divine, in 
the persuasion that she would be sustained till some 
satisfactory arrangement could be made for her relief 
from so much responsibility. And we knew not but 
that, already, some permanent change had been ef- 
fected in her department of domestic care. In fine, 
none of her friends here saw any thing of apprehen- 
sion in the future, respecting her. The reader may 
judge then, how great must have been our consterna- 
tion to learn by the next letter, a fortnight after the 
last, that she was actually dead. The news was like 
thunder bursting in sunshine from an untroubled and 
unclouded sky, and filled her sister's heart, especially, 
with dismay and sorrow overwhelming. Her father, 
to whom she was tenderly endeared on many accounts, 
nevertheless received the heavy tidings with great 
Christian firmness and resignation. The circumstances 
of this distressing event, are detailed in two letters 
from her husband, one to her father, and the other to 
her sister. To her father he writes, 



236 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



Sackville, March 12, 1844. 
My dear father Thompson, 

I know not how to begin to write, for the han(i of 
the Lord is pressing heavily upon me ! I feel that 1 
ought to send you the earliest possible intelligence of 
the passage to glory, of another member of your fami- 
ly, — but how can it be written by me, how can it be 
read by you ! Not with other feelings than those of 
unutterable agony, unless we rest, meanwhile by faith, 
where the brighter beams of that glorious gospel which 
hath hi'ought life and immortality to light, fall in 
noon-tide strength. I am striving to rest there, and, 
O my dear father, I do find light and some joy there, 
although thick darkness hath settled down suddenly 
upon every earthly scene. Take hold afresh upon the 
hope of the gospel, and then realize that another tie to 
earth is gone. Our dear Hannah is no longer of earth ! 
She has gone, by angel bands attended, to resume con- 
nection with her sainted mother, and the throng of 
glorified spirits in the Paradise of God. 

Her death was in a moment, and utterly unlooked 
for by us. She seemed to be doing delightfully well 
during the fortnight preceding yesterday morning, was 
free from pain and distress, and seemed to be gradually 
gathering strength ; she seemed especially well on Sat- 
urday, and Sunday, and on Monday morning, until after 
eight o^clock. She had sat up in her bed, and washed 
and taken her breakfast, and was preparing to be hfted 
from her bed to a sofa, as usual, and speaking most 
cheerfully of her feeling so well, so much like herself 
again — and, then, in a moment, asked to be laid down 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



237 



a moment, and in less than ten minutes, I think, ceased 
to breathe. She fell asleep sweetly ; there was no 
struggling, no stiffening of the muscles, a mere gasp or 
two, and the tyrant's work was done. So unhke death 
did it seem, that we could not entirely give her up for 
several hours ; we watched by her bedside, hung over 
her loved form, and strove by every possible way to 
win her back to life — but alas ! in vain. She is gone ! 

Her sweet voice will 

My pathway through life is so dreary and desolate, 
that I dare yet scarcely look forward to it at all. And, 
O, the little boy, how can a mother's kindly care be 
made up to him ? My heart sinks as I think of him ; 
but I have endeavored anew, at the bedside of the one 
who sleeps in Jesus, to give myself and my all in be- 
lieving confidence to God. I will trust Him, I cannot 
now trace Him ; 

" Behind this frowning providence, 
He hides a smiling face." 

My dear father, my heart is full. I cannot write all 
to-day, which you will long to hear. The Sabbath 
before her death was a very pleasant one to us both. 
In the afternoon, I had an appointment to preach 
about three miles from home ; she said, as I left her, 
she was sorry to have me go, and yet glad. I lifted 
her out of bed to the sofa just before I started, and 
thought I never saw her look so well. A young female 
friend, who has been spending the winter with us, read 
several portions of Holy Writ, and some hymns to her 
while I was away. She welcomed me on my return, a 



238 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



little before sunset, with, if possible, more than her 
usual kindness. She said she had seen nne coming. 
(She had requested her attendants to draw the curtain 
aside, and wheel the sofa round, so that she could look 
down the road for me.) I spent the evening at her 
bedside, and we talked of the hut imaginary future ; 
we thought the danger passed. I prayed with her be- 
tween 8 and 9 o'clock, and bade her good night. 
However, when I came up to go to bed in the room 
opposite to hers, she sent the nurse out to request me 
to look in again for a moment. She asked, whether 
Edward was sleeping well ; (he had seemed rather 
fretful through the day ;) why I was sitting up so late ; 
whether any thing was wrong? 1 told her it was only 
ten o'clock, and every thing was right. She said she 
thought it was much later. She asked, whether I felt 
discouraged at all about her recovery ? I told her, no, 
every thing seemed encouraging. She said she want- 
ed to hear me say so — she had been imagining bad 
things, and had got nervous. I again bade her good 
night, and retired to bed ; but after remaining a few 
moments, returned to her door, and asked her if she 
would like to have me remain with her. She said she 
feared I would not rest any, but seemed so much 
pleased with the proposition, that I stayed with her 
through the night. She slept better than she had done, 
and in the morning, seemed very much encouraged. 
We talked sometime together before I left the room 
for breakfast. 

I returned with the little boy, to give her his morn- 
ing kiss, which he did, and then, earnest to get to the 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



239 



breakfast table, he said " by-by," and I turned with 
him to the door ; but after reaching it, asked him 
whether he had not another kiss for Mama, (she seem- 
to be looking after him so anxiously.) He reached 
back, and I held him down, telling her to take a kiss 
from his sweet neck ; and while she kissed one side, I 
kissed the other. And this was our last interview, un- 
til in about half an hour or a little more, I heard a 
knock on the floor, and, rushing up stairs, found her 
gasping in death — insensible to every thing external. 
She had continued to talk in the same cheerful strain 
to her attendants — said she felt more like herself, etc., 
until she was in the valley of death. It is a comfort 
to know that her passage through it was so easy and 
quick. And although we had no opportunity to ascer- 
tain her feelings at the moment, we know in whom she 
believed, and that she was delightfully prepared for the 
unexpected change. It was the disease of the heart, 
which caused her death. She had been anxious about 
this for some months. 

I have a great deal more to say, but cannot say it 
now. I intend to write to brother Edward by the next 
mail. I will not attempt to tell you how well she, who 
is gone, was here universally beloved. We attend to 
the last sad mark of affectionate respect to-morrow af- 
ternoon. I would that you could take another look at 
that endeared form, so lovely in death, ere it is borne 
away to the silent resting place. I know not how to 
yield it up — 

" But this, new rising from the tomb, 
With beauty brighter far shall shine," 



240 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



We must try to think of her as in heaven, not in the 
grave. I need your sympathies and prayers, and allow 
me to assure you that you share in mine. H. P. 

Additional particulars are contained in the following 
letter to her sister and myself. 

Sackville, March 16, 1844. 
My dear Brother and Sister. 

I feel very much indisposed to writing to-day, and 
indeed to every thing else requiring any mental exer- 
cise. I feel disposed to sit down in silence amidst the 
thick darkness which envelopes me ; but feeling must 
not be my guide, certainly not now. My heart is very 
heavy within me ; my house is left unto me desolate — 
and O, how soon, how suddenly, how unexpectedly ! ! 
Would that T could run unto you this evening, that we 
might sit down together, and weep over our most dis- 
tressing bereavement ; that we might together think of 
the happy translation of the loved one who is gone ; 
that we might together in our sadness approach our 
Father who is in heaven, seeking from Him consolation 
in this time of need ! But I sat down to write you the 
particulars of the sickness and death of the one who 
has entered into rest. 

My dear Hannah seemed to pass along through the 
anxious months which precede the hour of trial, more 
comfortably than on the former occasion, except that 
she had rather a serious ill turn immediately after 
Christmas, resulting from over-exertion on that day, 
which threatened for a time very distressing conse- 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



241 



quences ; but they were escaped, and in a very few 
days she was again attending to her usual duties. She 
continued to pass along so very comfortably, that I 
thought surely all would be well. After her confine- 
ment, she seen^ed to do well, except that she had, on 
two successive nights, what seemed like fainting fits^ 
although she was perfectly conscious of every thing 
which was done about her, and could speak. She 
complained of irregular beating of the heart, and a 
death-like feehng throughout her system. This feeling 
about the heart gave her, and me too, so much anxiety, 
that, although we were perfectly satisfied with the at- 
tending physician, I sent some distance for another, of 
high reputation, who said that she had nothing to fear, 
at least immediately, from this ; that the great weak- 
ness of the system was the immediate cause of the 
faintness, etc. ; and that as she gained strength these 
symptoms would cease. His strongly expressed opinion 
greatly encouraged her, especially as she was not se- 
riously troubled again with them until the fatal hour. 
During the last ten days of her life, she reclined every 
day, for a longer or shorter period, on the sofa ; and 
during the last few days, several hours. She felt so 
well, indeed, that she wished several times to be 
allowed to walk from the bed to the sofa, and on 
Wednesday or Thursday, in^my absence, did walk from 
the sofa to the bed, and, after resting awhile, attempted 
to walk back, but eflfected her purpose with some diffi- 
culty. I entered the room just after she reached the 
sofa, and found her rather inclined to faintness. She 
then promised me that she would not attempt to walk 
21 



24-2 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



again, until I should think she might with safety. She 
was very anxious apparently for certain recovery, and 
very careful and fearful. On Saturday and Sunday, 
she seemed very much better, or rather, seemed to be 
getting better much more rapidly.. The Sabbath was 
a very delightful day to us both. Our fears and doubts, 
which had continued to linger about us, relative to her 
recovery, were banished, and we were looking forward 
with renewed hope to the future, which proved to be 
but an imaginary one. The account of her last night 
and morning you will have seen in the letter which I 
sent to Father Thompson. . 

I was at first grieved to think that we had no op- 
portunity to bid each other farewell, but on second 
thought I feel most grateful on her account that her 
removal from us was sudden — the arrangement was 
doubtless made by her Heavenly Father, in infinite 
mercy. She was saved from a most painful trial. It 
seemed almost impossible that she could have faced 
death calmly, anticipating his approach ; at any rate, 
she was spared the conflict with such fear and dread 
as must have preceded such calmness, and also the bit- 
ter agony of feeling which she would have found in 
tearing herself from those for whom she was so anxious. 
Her exchange of worlds was the most like a transla- 
tion, of any thing I have' ever witnessed. She was 
not, for God took her. She passed away in a very 
happy, cheerful hour from us, to the higher, holier, hap- 
pier associations of the better world, and the transfer 
from the one to the other, was the work of a moment. 
She had no dark valley to pass, or her passage through 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



243 



it was so swift that she could not have felt its terror. 
For this I do feel very grateful to God. Her mind, 
for the most part, during the last months of her life, 
has been in a very high state of religious experience. 
She has seemed to breathe the atmosphere of heaven, 
and has borne the fruit in her life of that holier clime. 
[Here Mr. Pickard inserted the last record in her jour- 
nal, already given, and added,] — The blessing which 
she thus obtained was retained, I believe, almost unin- 
terruptedly to the close of life. 

On the Sunday morning before her death, she said she 
had not the sensible communion with God which she 
desired ; she supposed the devil was taking advantage 
of her weakness to try to shake her confidence. She 
said she had great comfort in recollecting Christ's ac- 
qn.aiatance with our weakness, and His tender sympa- 
thy ; and in thinking of that passage which speaks of 
the bruised reed. She seemed to be holding fast her 
confidence, but with a trembling hand. Later in the 
day she spoke evidently the feelings of a heart over- 
flowing with gratitude — of the great, rich goodness of 
God unto us — of the three weeks of such rich mercy 
— and seemed very happy in thinking of it. 

I know not what to say to you, to console you, while 
my heart is so lacerated. I strive to think of her as 
she is. Would we draw her back if we could, from 
such a state of glorious bliss ? In the attending cir- 
cumstances of mercy, I can but rejoice for her. The 
last weeks of her life were comfortable ones to her. 
She found friends who were ready to do all they could 
to supply her sister's place. Her medical attendant 



244 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



was most acceptable to her — tender, delicate, and as- 
siduous in attention. Mrs. Dixon, who was to her, 
and in her estimation, all but equal to Mrs. Town, was 
with her much. Miss Carr, the young lady who has 
been with us this winter, was untiring in attention ; 
and the old lady who acted as nurse, she said, reminded 
her in her attentions very much of her own mother. 
I was always in and out, never absent from her cham- 
ber, in the day time, during her sickness, more than 
an hour and a half at a time, except on the Sabbath 
afternoon, when I was away between two and three 
hours, perhaps. I am truly sorry that none of her own 
relatives could be with her — but this also is all right. 

In this Province she was only known to be univer- 
sally admired and esteemed ; prejudice was disarmed 
in reference to her. Her funeral was most numerously 
attended, although on a week day, with the roads very 
bad ; the people gathered from all directions ; many 
came ten and twelve miles. 

Words cannat describe the already realized loneli- 
ness of earth to me. I have felt it so much since I 
commenced writing this, that I had to cease in order 
to seek a little relief. I took Ed vizard and walked out 
to the silent grave — but O, this gave not relief ; then 
called upon sympathizing friends, and after talking 
with them an hour or two, and approaching with them 
in prayer to God, I have returned somewhat comforted* 
But O, I cannot look forward. R,emember me at the 
Throne. 

You will, of course, feel some anxiety about Edward. 
He is a most lovely, affectionate little fellow ; his loss 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



245 



is unutterable. His attachment — affectionate, not 
merely instinctive attachment to his mother was re- 
markable. Could you have seen how anxiously he 
would bend down to kiss the cold but loved form, 
even after it was dressed in the habiliments of the 
grave and placed in the coffin, it would have altogether 
overcome you, as it did me. He bent down again and 
again, and kissed it just as the coffin was about to be 
closed : and he will still look around for her with dis- 
appointed anxiety. Mr. and Mrs. Allison have kindly 
offered to take him and his nurse into their family. 
This kind offer has very much hghtened the heavy load 
of anxiety which was pressing upon my mind relative 
to him. They have no child, are very much attached 
to Edward, and are exceedingly kind ; and he will be 
only a few yards from me. Yours, 

H. PiCKARJ). 

The disease of which Mrs. Pickard died had, it 
seems, been for some time at work in her system, 
though she made no report of it to her friends. She 
was troubled, even in early youth, with palpitation of 
the heart, but no alarming symptoms had shown them- 
selves. After the accident on her journey from Freder- 
icton, she had occasionally a tendency to faintness ; 
this probably induced her, on her return from her last 
visit in Boston, to consult a physician in St. John, 
by whom she was informed that her heart was some- 
what disordered. This information was not communi- 
cated to any but her husband until after her death. 
Probably she might have continued longer to live, had 
21* 



246 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



not the birth of her last child accelerated, or rather 
suddenly developed and completed the disease. 

It is consoling, however, to think that for such an 
abrupt termination of life, she had been maturing in 
Christian character to the last, and that to her, " sudden 
death was sudden glory." As expressed in the re- 
marks respecting the effect of her mother's death upon 
her, the circumstances of her own dissolution allowed 
her no realizing views of immediately approaching 
eternity ; at least none that could be revealed to any 
around her. But she was washed, but she was justi- 
fied, but she was sanctified, in the name of the Lord 
Jesus, and by the Spirit of our God ;" and was, doubt- 
less, ready to strike her harp, and join with the re- 
deemed hosts in singing, " unto Him that loved us, 
and washed us from our sins in His own blood, and 
hath made us kings and priests unto God and His 
Father, to Him be glory and dominion for ever and 
ever. Amen." How delightfully does her example 
illustrate the value and importance of a constant read- 
iness to die. Who would not be found, as she w^as, at 
whatever hour the Master shall call ? 

I will make but one remark more, where reflections 
might be greatly multiplied, in order to illustrate the 
attending wisdom and kindness of God even in such a 
mysterious Providence. The reader cannot fail to 
have noticed her exceedingly tender and affectionate 
attachment to all she loved. He should know, too, 
that the peculiar shrinking X)f the flesh from the physi- 
cal pain which sometimes precedes death, was very 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



247 



great to her nervous and sensitive nature. But by the 
divine arrangement in her removal from earth, she was 
not allowed even to see death in any form of terror or 
pain, and was spared the extreme anguish of Hngering 
severance from the ties of friendly and domestic en- 
dearment. Happy in confiding love and hope, her 
blooming virtues and affections diffusing around her a 
sweet perfume, rejoicing in present and anticipated 
pleasures of assured friendship, and with a still more 
highly gratified sense of divine love and favor, she 
was " caught up to Paradise " in a moment, to enjoy 
unspeakably more glorious and endearing scenes and 
connections. 

The delineation of her character I have endeavored 
to present through the course of the Memoir. I will 
not now even collect in one view the points of excel- 
lence in her life, which appear in these pages — I wiU 
leave that to be done by the reader himself ; for if, 
after the endeavor which I have already made to pic- 
ture her to the mind, I have failed in giving a tolerably 
satisfactory idea of her, any further attempt, on my 
part, would be equally unavailing. It will be proper 
for me, however, in conclusion of this affectionate 
tribute to her memory, to add the following unsolicited 
testimony to her a{)preciated worth in her adopted 
land, from a disinterested source, in the form of sym- 
pathizing and affectionate letters to her friends on the 
occasion of their distressing bereavement. 

The Rev. Enoch Wood, Chairman of the New 
Brunswick District, wrote to Mr. Pickard, as follows : 



248 



MEMOIR OF MRS. 



My dear afflicted Brother, 

The very sudden and unlocked for removal of 
your beloved wife, and our much esteemed sister and 
friend, has given us great pain. In this your deep 
affliction, you have the sincere sympathy and fervent 
prayers of all your friends. That the goodness of our 
Heavenly Father, by whose unerring wisdom this mys- 
terious event has been brought to pass, may show itself 
by a large bestowment of Grace Divine in this your 
time of need, is our earnest prayer. To her the change 
is one involving all gain ; so far let your grief be 
stayed; but still to you, and your motherless boy — to 
us and all her numerous and attached friends, the 
■stroke is severely felt in our conscious loss of superior 
excellence and holy example. I have always enter- 
tained an exalted opinion of her qualifications to be 
placed by your side in the difficult and responsible 
post which you occupy, and to which you have been 
called by the voice of the Church of God. Great is 
your loss ; great is ours, as a community to which her 
attachments were strong and enlightened. 

Allowing for all your past and present trouble, much 
is yet before you. In your solitary hours, studies, 
journeys, etc., your loss will meet you, and keep alive 
the tremblings of a wounded, bleeding heart. Nay, 
the innocent, playful movements of your first-born, will 
often lacerate, when, if the companion of your earliest 
friendship were by your side, they would excite delight 
and satisfaction. And still, by the sanctifying grace of 
God, all this, and more than this, will be found work- 
ing together for your good. Future months and years 



HANNAH M. PICKARD. 



249 



will show how close the connection between this dark 
day, and scenes of a brighter hue ; nay, between the 
events of earth and the glories of heaven. Trust, O 
trust in Him, 

" Whose path is on the sea, whose wondrous ways 
Through the deep waters yet remain unknown." 

He alone can sustain ; He alone can comfort. With 
heartfelt sorrow and lively sympathy, in which my 
brethren, and all our families join, I am, dear Brother, 

Yours sincerely, 

Enoch Wood. 

Again, writing to the Rev. Mr. McNutt, the preach- 
er stationed in Sackville, Mr. Wood says ; " your 
gloomy letter has distressed us indeed ; the affliction is 
a public one ; her qualifications for her post were rare ; 
we always cherished the strongest love for her from the 
time she came among us. To the righteous decisions 
of a gracious God, we must devoutly bow ; O may we 
have grace to improve by them. We may say of her, 
' Thy memory is fragrant, and thy works shall perpet- 
uate thy name. Thy spirit has now joined those who 
have gone before, and we are following after thee, 
having one more motive to quicken us in the way — 
the hope of meeting soon thy lovely and loving, thy 
holy and blessed spirit. Amen.' " 

The Rev. Samuel D. Rice, agent of the Academy 
at Sackville, in a letter to myself, writes, " Though a 
stranger to you personally, I take the liberty to address 
you, for the purpose of testifying to you the high esti- 



250 



MEMOIR. 



mation in which your most amiable and devoted sister- 
in-law was held in the land of her adoption, and more 
particularly,. in the Institution, where her husband so 
well fulfils the honorable and responsible situation of 
Principal. Her stay with us was too brief, in our own 
view of things. We wanted her counsel, encourage- 
ment, and, above all, the silent but unusually powerful 
influence of her example. We admired and loved her 
for her varied natural acquirements, but more for the 
grace of God in her. It may be pleasing to her friends 
to know, that to all with whom she associated, she was 
endeared, and greatly so ; and never have I known 
one for whose loss so much real sorrow was felt. As 
soon as I had heard the sad intelligence, I communi- 
cated it to our friends, and for weeks, when her name 
was mentioned, the tear would tell that her name had 
awakened emotions of sorrow. Her path, from the 
time of her entering in among us, was that of the just 
— it shone more and more, till it terminated in the full 
radiance of glory. Her sainted spirit is at rest. May 
we follow her as she followed Christ." 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



SKETCHES AND FRAGMENTS. 



The following articles, selected fi-om Mrs. Pickard's writings, 
some in manuscript, and others already published, will be read 
with interest, as developing elements of thought, emotion and 
rhetorical skill, which only needed farther opportunity and cul- 
ture, to establish the reputation of an accomplished and elegant 
writer. 

The Sketches, as far as that entitled " Home," were especially 
designed for youthful readers, as is evident fi'om their style, and 
yet they contain a certain richness, together with simplicity of 
expression, which renders them a delightful pastime for all 
classes. These pieces formerly appeared in the Sabbath School 
Messenger, and though some of them have been frequently used 
on public occasions, they have lost none of their value, for it is 
intrinsic ; and they are worthy of this permanent form, and of 
the more extended perusal secured to them by this publication. 

Of the Fragments, I wish only to say, that, as such, they are 
but scattered and suggestive hints of thought, imperfect in form, 
but too valuable to be lost ; some of them would furnish ad- 
mirable subjects and imagery for the poetic muse, and all of 
them exhibit the fervid operation of a mind in love with pure 
and beautiful sentiments. 



SKETCHES. 



THE LITTLE RE3IEMBRANCER. 

" Mother, here is " this beautiful little cluster of blossoms, 
which the wind has just blown from our cherr\--tree : and a 
great many more lie scattered around, alone, like flakes of 
snow, — O ! I am so sorry. What a pity that it could not 
have hung upon the tree, and ripened into fruit ; one, two, 
three, four, five — 0, how nice they would have been ! 
You said, mama, the other day, when you reproved brother 
for treading carelessly upon a worm, that ' nothing was ever 
made in vain.' I am sure I do not see why this was made, 
all perfect as the others, and just when it was fully blown, 
to fall ifpon the groimd and die. That does seem to be in 
vain." 

" Brino; it here, my dear, and I will tell you ^\hy it was 
made, just as the little flower would do if it could speak. A 
few weeks ago, the tree, you know, had not a leaf upon all 
its branches ; cold storms were gathering darkly in the sky ; 
ever\' tree and bush looked dead : the ground was covered 
thick with snow, the streams and ponds with glistening ice ; 
and, although the earth vras really nearer to the sun than 
when 'tis summer, yet the part of it on which we live, was 
so turned from his rays, that they could only fall obliquely 
upon us, without ditFusing suflicient heat to drive away the 
cold bleak winds and frosts, which sweep across from the 
22 



254 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



polar regions ; — but you see how great a change has come ; 
the snow and ice are gone — the buds, and leaves, and in- 
sect tribes, all things which summer brings, are now appear^ 
ing. This is the work of God — it is all a mystery ; repeated 
in each changing of the season, we watch its gradual pro- 
gress, till it seems a thing of course ; yet it is not the less a 
mystery. But have we thanked Him, who, placing the bow 
in the clouds when the flood receded, promised that ^ while 
the earth remaineth, seed time and harvest, and cold and 
heat, and summer and winter, and day and night, shall not 
cease.' 

" These little flowers have fallen to recal you to your 
duty. In their delicate hue, and sweet fragrance, is expressed 
a constant hymn of praise. Should they not call a blush of 
shame upon our cheeks, to be thus earlier than ourselves^ 
who have witnessed the commencement and decline of so 
many seasons, and yet have not brought from pure hearts a 
single fervent offering of gratitude for their return ? " 

" O, mother ! how ungrateful I have been. How much it 
must have displeased God ! I am afraid that in the midst of 
this great world which he has made, he may forget me, as I 
had forgotten him. O ! what should I do 

" You see, my dear, that early star which has taken its 
place above us ; it is a world far more glorious than this on 
which we live ; larger, brighter, happier perhaps ; yet to the 
hand which formed it, to the providence which guides it, 'tis 
not better known, or with more love and care o'erwatched, 
than is the heart of a little child — those whom His mercy 
has surnamed the ' lambs of his flock.' " 

" Mother, that star — it is so far above, much farther than 
I can even think — is it not shining there near the throne of 
God?" 

" Your eye, my daughter, cannot pierce the distance, your 
mind cannot comprehend it ; — 'tis indeed infinite. World 



SKETCHES. 



255 



beyond world is lost in the space still farther on, where the 
rays of the bright one we now see, are unknown : yet to the 
Eye which seeth ail things, distance is nothing — the Spirit 
of God breathes there as around us — His hand marks its 
path, and supplies the wants of each breathing thing which 
dwells in those great worlds — still we are not forgotten ! 
This same hand supports us, and if we fall, raises us up 
again, leading us tenderly through life. He listens to our 
humble prayer, whispered even while angels' songs swell 
loudest, sweetest round. He is ever with us ; His kingdom 
is not in the sun, nor on beyond the light of stars, — 'tis not 
where hope can never approach, or wearied thought can 
never reach ; but it is very nigh to us, even within us — 
' The Throne of God ' is in our hearts." 



AKE THEY NOT OUR BRETHREN ? 

The day was far spent : the last sunbeams fell aslant upon 
the Himmaleh Mountains, and the mists of approaching night 
were gathering o'er the vast plains of Bengal, which have 
never echoed the name of God. All was silence around. 
Still the Hindoo toiled ; the whole day he had labored hard 
beneath the burning sun. His hands trembled with weari- 
ness ; the long black hair fell thick about his shoulders ; and 
as he dropped the little kernels of rice which he was plant- 
ing in the earth, he was repeating in a low tone some words 
from a little piece of parchment tied about his neck. Then 
ceased his work a moment, as, raising himself, he looked 
around and said, " My heart is troubled ; how can it be that 
from grains so small should come the waving stalk, the flow- 
ers, the fruit ? There is nothing in the rain that falls upon it, 
nor in the brook, that looks like these ; nor in the air, nor in 
the sunbeam ! Surely, some being whom I cannot see must 



256 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



bid them grow ; he must have made the diamond, the ruby 5 
and the topaz, embedded in the rock and sand of those tall 
mountains ; — then he made mountains, rivers, trees ; all 
our tribes — even me. In all I look upon, I see his work ; 
then where, O, where is he ? I have climbed those far-off 
mountains, been in their deep, dark caverns, where not a 
voice is heard. Does he dwell there ? The sky, the sun 
and storms must have been his work. Then he is every- 
where ; and, rich enough, needs not the worship or remem- 
brance of aught which he has made." Awed to silence, he 
paused, then sighed, " My sins, my sins ! alas, I know him 
not." 

Evening came on ; he went not to his cabin ; beneath 
some bamboo trees he laid his head, but not to sleep. When 
morning first dawned, he hastened to the priest — told him 
all his doubts — then asked, " This good Being may I love 
and worship ? What can I do to have my sins forgiven ?" 
The priest replied, "Where our holy river Ganges iuis 
against the rocks in those blue mountains, is an altar to Brah- 
ma. He is God, and made all things. None can approach 
this place, but sincere worshippers. Take thy sandals, and, 
having set in them these iron spikes, bind them upon thy 
naked feet, and go to Brahma. Your sins shall be forgiven. 
The sun may often rise and set before you reach that place, 
yet turn not back. Weary and faint, your heart may fail — 
turn not back, though you die." 

He murmured not, and cheerfully commenced his painful 
journey. When night came, he had toiled upoi} his way 
long, long hours in anguish, yet " his native home was still 
but just behind him," far, far away above the sunset clouds 
he could discern the snowy peaks of Himmaleh. 

Little reader, whose first formed thoughts "were hallowed 
by the name of Jesus, what would you not have sacrificed to 
have whispered in the ear of this poor Hindoo your own 



SKETCHES. 



257 



pure knowledge of the Savior, as he stood leaning against a 
cocoa-nut tree, for breath, while the grass around was stained 
with blood from his wounded feet, — to have said in the Re- 
deemer's name, " Behold, I show you a better way." 

- ^ - ^ ^ 

Beneath the branches of a spreading banian tree, an anxious 
group were gathered ; their skins were dark and tawnj^ ^ 
their. raiment very strange, and lightly worn ; yet their tear- 
ful eyes revealed the feelings of a soul within. In their 
midst, one stood of different race ; his face was fair, like one 
of us, and in his hand he held a book — it was the Bible. 
He knelt and prayed with them, and then he rose to tell 
them of the Christians' God. Just then the pilgrim Hindoo 
man advanced ; overcome by suffering, almost in death, he 
threw himself down upon the turf beneath the tree ; no 
groan escaped him ; he pressed to his fevered lips the little 
piece of parchment he wore about his neck, for he could not 
utter the prayer which it contained. The cool breeze rustled 
freshly among the leaves, and a little brook, flowing softly 
past the bank below, seemed calling him to quench his dying 
thirst. But then a sound, sweeter far to him than is the 
freshening breeze unto the fainting, or the music of the 
water to the thirsty, w^as borne upon that breeze. . In his own 
language, he heard the words — " The blood of Jesus Christ, 
his Son, cleanseth us from all sin." He raised his drooping 
head, and as he listened, he forgot his pain, and thirst, and 
weariness. With each word there came new life ; sitting 
up, with faith in what he heard, he tore from his neck the 
once treasured parchment ; unclasped the torturing sandals 
from his bleeding feet ; gathered up his robe, came, fell 
down upon his knees in the midst, repeating the words of 
the teacher — 

" Thanks be to God who giveth us the victory, through 
our Lord Jesus Christ." 
22* 



258 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



SUPPOSED DIALOGUE 

BETWEEN A LITTLE HEATHEN GIRL AND THE DAUGHTER OF 
A MISSIONARY. 

"I have been watching you as you looked among the 
flowers, and longed to ask you who you were ; — you do not 
look like me ; where is your home ?" 

" Do you see that largest building yonder, roofed with 
palm leaves, and surrounded by the cinnamon trees ? The 
green earth slopes down in front, to where you see a group 
of orange trees, covered with fruit and flowers. That is the 
Mission house. My father is a Missionary. Have you never 
been there ?" 

No, we have just come here from another place. But 
where did you come from t What is a Missionary 

" We have been here a great many months. Two years 
ago, we came across the sea, to teach your people about 
God, from a place called America. Did you ever hear of it 

" Never." 

In America, they have not so beautiful trees, so rich 
fruits, or flowers so sweet as you have here ; but there they 
all know and worship one God ; and we have brought a book 
from there, which will tell you all about Him. Those who 
love this God, are kind, good and happy." 

" Are all the children there like you .?" 

*' Yes, only they have not learned your language as I 
have done. They meet in classes, one day in every week, 
to learn about God ; and are so pleased when ihey hear 
from you, — some of them have given money to buy thes^ 
books — Bibles, we call them, — to send out here. They 
love and pray for you." 
Pray for us ! " 



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" Yes, that you may love this God, and learn to read His 
book." 

" Where did they get it ? " 

" Holy men wrote it, as God commanded them. It tells 
us how He made the world from nothing, by His word ; how 
He made man from its dust, and gave to him a living soul — 
made him to be happy ; but he sinned. And because all 
have sinned, all must suffer, some by poverty, some by sick- 
ness, some by crime ; but all alike must die." 

" Your God — what is his name ? " 

" We call him the Lord, terrible and mighty ; the Holy 
One ; the Creator ; Jehovah ; the only and true God." 

" We worship many gods, but not Him. Where does he 
dwell ? " 

" Your gods are only idols, made by men, and can do 
you no good ; there is but one whom you should worship — 
He is eternal ; of His days there was no beginning and will 
be no end ; perfectly wise and just ; perfectly good and 
holy ; dwelling in heaven mid light beyond the brightness 
of our sun at noonday, or its golden gleams at setting ; the 
moon and host of stars at night have not the faintest shade 
of the glory and beauty in which He dwells." 

" Is He there alone ? " 

" No ; angels, beings created by Him, with wings all 
bright and glistening, bow around His throne, giving praise 
to Him, who is, and who was, and shall be for ever more. 
Yet listen ; from all this He looked and saw that we were 
perishing in sin ; He loved us when we knew Him not, and 
left that world of glory to come in the form of man, and die, 
that He might cleanse our souls from sin in His own blood ; 
and now we call Him Redeemer, Savior, our Father." 

" To cleanse our souls ! — What do you mean ? " 

" The soul can never die ; these bodies, first formed from 
dust, will die and be laid away to moulder and blacken in 



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the grave ; upon these cheeks, within these hps, within 
these throbbing hearts, the gnawing worm wiU crawl and 
feed, yet we shall know it not, for the ' soul shall return 
unto God w^ho gave it.' " 

" The other day, from the river's muddy shore, I saw 
them take a piece of earth ; I wondered what it was, and 
watched until they washed the dirt away, and then I 
knew it was a diamond. Is it not thus you mean — the 
soul is like that diamond, concealed till death shall take 
this outward part away ?" 

" Just so." 

" But what will be when we are dead, — will the sun 
still shine, and all things look the same as now?" 

" Yes ; but there will come a time when God shall call 
from out their graves all human dust, though of these 
forms no eye but His could see a bone or sinew left ; yet 
at His word we all shall rise, the good in beauty never 
more to die, but ever be with God ; the wicked to live 
for ever, yet far from Him." 

" Can this be true ? " 

" Then all things else must perish, as fades away the 
varying cloud at night. The rugged rocks, the star- 
crowned mountains, earth's deep foundations, shall be 
removed and know no place. The ocean too, whose 
waves we see upon the misty shore, of all God's works 
most like Himself, emblem of His eternity, shall cease to 
be. His word, who from chaos called it forth, shall wipe 
its floods away, even as from the trembling leaf the. 
pearly dew-drop is dissolved. Yet we, who shrink at 
its approaching rage, daring scarce listen to its voice, we 
shall live for ever ; not by ourselves sustained, or reason's 
light, but by His breath upheld, be made to live for ever, 
specks upon the never-ebbing ocean of eternity. And 
now if you will listen, I will teach you a prayer, which 



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261 



the Savior taught us ; believing in Him, this prayer alone 
will save us happy 'mid the universal ruin." 
" O, let me know it." 

" Then kneel with me. Kneel, because it is to God 
we pray. 

" Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy 
name; Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth 
as it is done in heaven ; give us this day our daily bread, 
and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who 
trespass against us ; lead us not into temptation, but de- 
liver us from evil, for Thine is the kingdom, the power, 
and the glory, for ever, and ever. Amen." 

FAREWELL OF THE CLOSING YEAR. 

How swiftly the day is hastening to its close I Even 
now, its latest gleams, in lingering reflection, scarce out- 
beam the far sent light from evening stars. In a few 
hours we shall have done for ever vvdth this fleet year; 
and it will have gone before us v/ith its faithful message 
to the throne of God. Let us pause ; for in the silence 
of this dusky hour, I seem to hear the tottering footsteps 
of the dying year, as of some friend innmi and old ; and 
in the Avind, sighing around the casement, think I hear 
his feeble voice thus saying — "Little children, it is the 
last time; when the morrow dawns, my walks of earth 
with you are done. Gladly I leave this little orb, its sor- 
rows and its change, to join the mighty ranks of happy 
ages, that with the countless years of heaven, list to the 
songs of earth's redeemed ones, where comes no night 
or storm, no sin, no change, no death. But ere I go, a 
moment pause, and forget not all my benefits. Three 
hundred and sixty-five days, I have been your guardian 



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— each hour have waited anxiously to add new light to 
the trembling beams of knowledge in your young minds. 

*' When night came, I have laid you quietly to sleep, 
beneath some angel's care, and when the day star rose, 
with fresh direction from His throne above, have brought 
you from its grave-like slumbers forth to hope, to prayer, 
to gratitude. Upon some of you, disease has breathed ; 
it seemed almost the touch of death, and the sick nature 
turned in murmuring away ; again by Him commission- 
ed, I have dried the dampness of its breath, and brought 
relief and blissful health. 

" But of those given me, some are lost ; for ere the 
harvest came, Death reaped among the flowers, and in 
his bosom bore them to the grave. They will not perish 
there ; a day shall surely come when those crushed blos- 
soms, by the throne of God, shall fear no more the foot 
of the destroyer. 

" Yet ye are spared, and each moment receiving some 
token of a Father's care : remember how much he blesses 
you with life, and health, and friends. Flowers and 
fruits and pleasant thoughts have been his daily gifts 
bestowed through me. 

" And now to the new, young year I give you, not 
knowing what Providence within its robes may have 
concealed for you, or whether, when its course like mine 
is done, it may not leave you sleeping in the tomb. 
Whate'er it be, receive each hour of pleasure or of bit- 
terness, with firm, unfailing trust, as from a faithful friend 
who marks each change with everlasting love. If the 
summons be to death, — then be it so ; for what is life ? 
'T is but the port from which we sail, death but the breeze 
which wafts us on to our unchanging home — Eternity. 

" One word for all is ever borne upon each moment's 
wing — ' Prepare.' And if this word be heeded, then, 



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when the last day of thy hfe shall come, when the fading 
eye, the famtly fluttering pulse, and feebly coming breath 
shall fearfully reveal to thee the mysteries of death, thou 
wilt not, hke the wintry night wind, pass away in wail- 
ing and in darkness, but, lighted by His smile, thou mayst 
come to that pure place, whose glories are unchanged by 
time — an eternity has passed, nor left the impress of an 
hour within its golden portals ; another eternity succeeds, 
and not a breath shall dim its fadeless beauty. There 
with the angels, thine elder bretln*en, thou mayst trace 
with rapture ever new, holy and increasing still, the 
riches of that grace which stooped even from the circle 
of eternity, to purify and raise so frail a being thus to 
become an ' heir of God.' " 

BEAUTY OF CONTENTMENT. 

" What is the matter, Sarah ? " said a lady the other 
day to her daughter, who slowly entered the room with 
a cloud upon her usually calm brow, like a shadow of un- 
happy thoughts ; " what has happened to you ? " 

Wliy, notliing has happened to me," rephed she, pet- 
ulantly, "but I do hate to be so poor. I have just been 
to Mrs. Shaw's, to deliver that letter and the message • 
she was not in, so I waited in the parlor. Such elegant 
parlors I her carpets looked like the richest white velvet 
covered with flowers ; then there were crimson cush- 
j ioned chairs and sofas, chandeliers ghttering and sparkling 
in the centre of each room, and many elegant thmgs of 
which I did not know the name or use. I declare that 
I was really dizzy ^vith the splendor. Crimson curtains 
do make such a rich, pleasant flght in a room I I wish — 
I really could not help feeling dissatisfied at the mere 



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idea of coming home again, and do n't see why such 
was not my lot. I am sure I should be just as happy as 
the day is long." 

" But why not be happy now, Sarah? We have every 
thing comfortable, more than comfortable." 

" I did not think at first how ungrateful I was, but yet 
I cannot have things at all as I would like them. I 
know we are not very poor, yet there are a great many 
thmgs, which, although I am not suffering for them, I 
really want." 

"And after all, my dear, none but what you can do 
pretty well without. I should be glad if you had every 
thing as you would like, but, — think a moment, — where 
can you find a moment in which blessings more priceless 
than gold have been withheld or limited? O, if we 
could realize each word and thought, coming with all its 
pollution and ingratitude, singly into the presence of God, 
before His searching eye, how careful should we be of our 
thoughts — how differently should we speak I" Sarah 
sighed, and rested her head upon her hand. " I could 
describe to you a scene," continued her mother, " no 
fancy sketch, which is indeed a different picture. At 
the foot of a narrow lane extending from a dirty street, 
far away from the walks of wealth and beauty, where 
fashion never treads, is the humble residence of a poor 
widow with three children ; the room in which they 
dwell is low and comfortless ; a broken table, with each 
a stool, and one miserable bed, constitute her list of fur- 
niture. They were visited the other day by a friend of 
mine ; she found them with scarcely clothing enough to 
keep them warm. When she entered, the little ones 
were crouching over an almost extinguished fire ; the 
mother, looking pale and sickly, was finishing a piece of 
sewing upon which she had been employed ; the two 



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265 



eldest girls, of nine and seven, had been reading from a 
much worn book, which, as she entered, one rose and 
laid upon the mantel-piece. One, of about three years, 
upon whose cold, thin cheeks were the traces of recent 
tears, and whose eyelashes were still wet, was sitting in 
the comer, rocking her little head back and forth, singing 
low, — 

'1 wish my mother was a queen.' 

At first the poor woman could scarcely raise her eyes 
from her work, but shortly it was completed, and she 
conversed more freely. Few hearts had been so disci= 
plined. Although always dependent upon their own 
labor for support, yet early hfe had found them much 
prospered, until a cloud gathered blackness above them ; 
their rising hopes were crushed by repeated and unfore- 
seen losses. Of all the treasures which industry had 
garnered up, none were left ; they looked to Him who 
had permitted it, and were quiet in the answer, ' The 
kingdom of heaven.' But a more bitter dreg remained 
in their cup of sorrow ; death came and bore from them 
the husband and the father. Yet even this was not 
without its blessing, for, rich in faith, his spirit fled, and 
led their hearts to God. 

"As the poor woman gave her story,- her voice trem- 
bled, and she added, I will not complain — ' His praise 
shall continually be in my mouth.' She had obtained a 
httle employment, for the most trifling compensation, 
not enough to procure for them the food and fuel neces- 
sary ; but even this favor would be of short duration. 
She had, she said, no prospect of any thing more to do 
at present. 'What will become of us, mother?' asked 
the eldest, softly. The poor woman glanced towards the 
Bible, from which they had been reading to her, then 
23 



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SELECT WRITINGS. 



raised her eyes ; they became moist, the momentary color 
of excitement left her cheek and lips, but her hands 
were folded qnietly, and in her upward cast of counte- 
nance was an expression of trust, — trust, not based upon 
* the world that now is,' but anchored in heaven. She 
replied, ' You just read to me about the poor widow 
whose meal and cruse of oil . failed not. God is the 
same ; His providence is as watchful now as then ; we 
are his children.' 

" She took the sacred word and said, * Here is our 
treasure, we have none upon earth ; but within this en- 
velope, is the legacy of a patrimony above, which fadeth 
not away. He who was our guide, has already gone to 
possess it ; let us be steadfast in the faith, lest ourselves 
be found in that day not to have obtained it.' 

" The two eldest sobbed aloud, the little one came 
from the corner, and laid her head upon her mother's 
knee. She took a hand of each, and said, ' My children, 
He who plumes the wing, and forgets not the fsod of the 
young birds when they cry, will also supply us ; but if 
not, though all things else should fail us, — even * though 
our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved. He 
will minister unto us an abundant entrance into ' The 
kingdom of heaven.'' " 



THE SPIDER. 

" Then let us not o'erlook this race 
Of creatures, though so small ; 
But in their form His wisdom trace, 
Who guides and feeds them all." 

" My Stars ! Do you see that great, ugly spider, on 
the window?" exclaimed Lucretia, jumping from her 



SKETCHES. 



^67 



seat, near the dreaded insect; and, seizing a little brush, 
she was about to commence an attack, when her mother 
interposed, and the spider was saved. 

" I think it is not a half hour, Lucretia, since I heard 
you say how glad you should be if you could learn as 
much as one new thing every day, this year. If you 
would observe the works of Nature,— rather, I should 
say of God, — so constantly in our path, that we do not 
appreciate their perfection, — it would afford you more 
than three hundred and sixty-five new and valuable ideas 
in the course of a year." 

" O, but mother ! " said Lucretia, half-shuddering, 
*' such a horrid crawling creature ! If it had wings in- 
stead of such great legs, it would not seem so bad. 
Ugh ! I feel as if they were on me now." 

" You should not allow yourself to be so much dis- 
turbed by things so harmless, merely because they are 
not what you consider beautiful. When first He made 
them, ' God saw that they were good and if we would 
examine them, our very souls would be awed by the 
depth of wisdom with which they are formed. Come 
and sit here a few moments with me, and let us watch 
your little unconscious enemy. 

" There are many kinds of spiders with which we are 
familiar; the water spider, which is amphibious, that 
means, you know, it can exist in or out of water, at its 
pleasure. If I had time, I should like to tell you of this 
ingenious little creature, how it prepares a thick web, 
which, as well as its body, it covers with a kind of var- 
nish ; then how it fills this little web with air, and thus 
goes down under the stream, where, far away from storm 
and clouds, it prepares a home, clean and dry, at the bot> 
tom of the water. Then there is the gossamer spider^ 
which sometimes floats about in the air, upon a web of 



268 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



its own spinning. Perhaps when yon have been in the 
country, you have seen in the morning these Uttle webs 
all around upon the grass, covered with dew. 
. " But this is the common house spider, and understands 
managing its little household very well, I assure you. If 
we had a microscope, you could perceive that its head, 
breast and feet, are covered with scales, the rest of its 
body with hair. They cannot turn their eyes like most 
other creatures, so they have been supplied with several, 
in different parts of the head, eight, I think. At the end 
of each foot there is a claw ; the lower part of the body 
is furnished with thousands of little tubes, called spin- 
ners, from which the silk of the web proceeds, so that, 
when the thread is so fine w'e can scarce perceive it, 'tis 
composed of at least four thousand strands. 

" Watch its movements for a moment, it is walking 
slowly about as if planning its work; I imagine it is 
preparing to construct a web. See, it is examining liie 
crack beside the window, that it may be sure to escape 
in case of danger. Now it has already commenced its 
work by glueing one end of the thread to the casement; 
now it goes across the window pane, and fastens the 
other end with glue, and pulls it, to make it quite tight; 
now it fixes another thread close by that, while it runs 
back upon the first, guiding the second with one of its 
claws lest it should be joined to the other, and fastens it 
where it first began ; and so on until all the cross threads 
are done ; then beginning in the middle it goes round 
and round, fastening the little circular threads in the 
same curious way until all are completed. 

" Sometimes they place themselves in the centre to 
watch their prey. Sometimes they retire to a hole or 
crack, from which they dart suddenly out, if an unwary 
fly should become entangled in the web." 



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269 



Lucretia rose, and put up the brush. " I confess," 
said she, " I do not like to destroy so ingenious a work- 
man. Much as I despised that humble insect, it has led 
my mind to God. How perfect must He be in every at- 
tribute, who thus condescends to provide for the most 
insignificant of his creatures I " 

" Perfection, above our comprehension, Lucretia. 
When the mighty mind of man stoops from its angel fel- 
lowship, forgets, denies the existence of our glorious 
God, these, unheeded as His works, still remain his faith- 
ful witnesses, and upon their supple web, in fadeless 
characters, Aveave this truth — God liveth for ever. Nor 
these alone : Of all the breathing animalcules in a drop 
of dew, or in the span of air we breathe, and of all 
the insect tribe upon a grain of sand, not one is silent to 
His praise ; but their voice is heard mingling with the 
storm wind, with the ' sound of many waters,' and with 
all the glorious of His works, in that solemn hymn, echo- 
ing in the spirit's ear, — God liveth for ever." 



THE SAVIOR'S VISIT TO THE SISTERS OF BETHANY. 

The shades of night were gathering fast and silently 
around the base of Olivet; the evening breeze was 
heard rustling from leaf to leaf among its fruitful trees ; 
the last beam of sunlight faded ; and with it was hushed 
the mingled din of labor in Jerusalem. It was the hour 
of evening sacrifice ; — and Kedron's tide bore on beyond 
the city walls the daily Adctim's blood, until the hour 
should come when He who was the " brightness of the 
Father's glory," now dwelling unacknowledged by the 

I side of that polluted altar, should " make his soul an 

I offering for sin." 

23* 

i 

I 



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A few distant lights revealed the humble town of 
Bethany where our Savior, persecuted and perplexed 
by the rebellious Jews, would often come with weary 
feet, to rest his homeless form and aching head upon 
the arm of human friendship ; in his love concealing 
from the little group that infinite divinity which he 
knew would so o'erwhelm their trusting hearts. As he 
sat, and in familiar terms revealed to them the glories of 
the upper world, and the blessings of that better part he 
bade them choose, the listening Mary, the busy Martha, 
and the beloved Lazarus forgot the fear and cares of 
poverty, and while their hearts burned within them, 
thought he was a prophet mighty in deed and word. 

But now they were alone ; and Lazarus whom he 
loved was sick to death. Almost hopeless, the sisters 
wiped the chilling sweat from his cold forehead, or 
watched the soul's light receding from the glazed eye, 
and now a moment turned to gaze along the darkened 
mountain road, for the expected form of him, who they 
believed would yet control the fierce disease, and bid 
their brother live. The moon and stars shone down in 
quiet ; no coming foot, no sound was there, save of the 
shepherd as he slowly trod to guard his flock. Could it 
be that Jesus had forgot their lowliness, or left them in 
this hour of grief for happier friends? No; he was 
himself " a man of sorrows." Then wherefore came he 
not? For as yet they knew not all the Scriptures, nor 
the power of God, nor that, though his visible presence 
blest the dwellers by Jordan, his omnipresent Spirit 
was with them in holy sympathy around the bed of 
death, inspiring in their hearts those scarce admitted 
hopes, that he would yet come and raise their brother, 
even from the sealed up portals of the grave. 

And then with silent steps they would come again to 



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271 



smooth their brother's pillow in his agony, and whisper 
in his ear the name he loved so much to hear, that he 
might wake in Heaven, — that precious passport on his 
lips, the name of Jesus Christ. 

Bending above his head to catch the last word from 
his death bound tongue; one moment listening to his 
fluttering breath ; one moment searching for his scatter- 
ing pulse; one moment's eager pressure of his heart, — 
now motionless ; — and then they closed his eyes. 

The fourth day came. Wearied with his journey, 
the Savior paused beside the burial place of Bethany. 
The sisters came, and falling at his feet, exclaimed, 
Lord, if niou hadst been here, our brother had not 
died." Jesus said, " Thy brother shall rise again." 
They knew that he would at the last day, when all, 
when you and I shall rise. But when they saw his 
spirit troubled by their sorrow, and looked upon his holy 
countenance, while he uttered those words in which we 
trust, — "I am the resurrection and the life," — their 
eyes were opened, and amidst overflowing tears they 
worshipped him. 

And " Jesus wept." 

They came around the sepulchre ; the massive stone 
was rolled away, and Jesus, standing in the entrance, 
raised his voice to God in prayer, that those who heard 
might thus believe. Above him was the calm clear air, 
so still that almost could be heard the beat of angels' 
wings, with the spirit hastening back ; below him was 
the dark, damp cave, where death was waiting to 
restore his prey. The command was heard. There 
was a moment's pause, while nature repaired her 
stricken tendons, and wound her clogged main-spring 
up : — one moment — then life awoke within the folded 
shroud, and Lazarus came forth ! 



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THE CORONATION. 

As two little girls were returning from scliool, before 
me, the other clay, I heard one of them say to the other, 
" I wish I lived in England ; then I would go to see 
the queen. O ! I would give any thing to be at her 
coronation. I should so like to see how a queen does 
look." 

" So should I," said the other ; " I do not really know 
what a coronation means, but I heard some one call it, 
a ' splendid event' " 

" My father," said the first, " was telling me about it 
last night ; he said it was the ceremony of placing the 
crown upon her head, in token of her royalty. And 
then, you know, she will be a queen always ; her dress 
all gold, and rubies, and diamonds ; and every body will 
bow themselves as she passes; and the whole nation 
be anxious to gain her favor, and do her some service. 
I should like to be a queen — would not you?" 

And the other replied : " Yes, if I knew how to 
govern well, I should." 

And I would like to have said to them, as I now say 
to these little readers. You may be queens. I do not 
mean that you can ever hold the sceptre of a nation, 
but you can govern yourselves. Be queen of your own 
heart, that you may banish every evil thought or wish, 
as a queen would a rebellious subject; nor would this 
be without its glory or reward. 

"We may imagine, in part, the scene of the coronation 
as it will occur — the long galleries of that stupendous 
building — the old Westminster Abbey — filled with all 
the beauty, wealth and nobility of the nation ; the throng 
of horsemen and officers, their armor gleaming in the 



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273 



sunbeams, reflecting light upon the diamonds of their 
gold and crimson dresses ; jewelled coronets sparkling in 
profusion 'midst waving plumes ; then the music ; loud 
and deep, as it rolls above the crowd — the prayer — 
the queen kneeling before the altar, while upon the 
stillness of the ceremony we often hear the shouts of 
the people as they echo and echo through the high 
arches of that ancient edifice. 

But let us remember, these " splendid events" are not 
the things "into which the angels desire to look." 
These affairs which so agitate the breasts even of a 
nation, calling forth the long, loud acclamations of a 
multitude, break not upon the still rapture of Heaven, 
From His holy presence no hasty glance, no truant 
thought wanders back to earth, for scenes like these. 
The magnificence which so dazzles our eyes is dim and 
valueless, when we remember how soon the light of 
eternity will shine upon it. 

Life's journey is short and soon accomplished. Our 
errand here is not with the " pomp and circumstance" of 
earth ; a destiny is om'S, higher than an earthly throne ; 
more glorious than the gifts of gold and diadem ; more 
enduring than the world itself 

The mighty and the loftiest of other ages have passed 
like the noiseless mist from earth ; they have forsaken 
their kingdom and gone to lie down in the grave ; 
whence they return not to rekindle the light of their 
fame, extinguished in the shadows of mortality, nor 
revisit their palaces in which the dust of centuries has 
gathered. 

But from these comes a voice, saying : " God alone is 
great." If humble, we are His children. Though the 
place of our repose be unknown ; though our names are 
unwritten in treasured records, yet we are not forgotten 



274 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



before God ; for we know that " when He shall appear 
we shall be like Him ; " by His word born again from the 
dnst with which we may have mingled for ages, to re- 
ceive an inheritance " in His presence where is fulness 
of joy, and at whose right hand are pleasures for ever- 
more." 

THISTLE-DOWN. 

Sitting, a short time since, by my window, as the long 
shadows across the landscape were losing themselves 
in the dim approaching twilight, fancy came with more 
than sunset beauty, and around me threw the cherished 
shadows of the past. Distance melted away ; home 
and friends, in pm-e and sweet communion, were present 
to my mind — all in varying succession came and went. 
My little Sabbath class seemed clustered around me, as 
they were wont to do — Sarah, Celia, Lucretia, Caroline 
— my heart was glad, and bade them welcome to my 
thoughts. The moments sped swiftly as the shades of 
night rolled on, and when above the wooded liill-tops 
the reflected sunbeams were fading from the east, stars 
came gently glimmering. 

A light breeze passed, and bore upon its course a floating 
whorl of thistle-down ; a moment it was entangled on the 
casement, until a friendly breath of air again set it free 
and wafted it away. Whence came that little traveller 
so late upon its journey? Perhaps for many days it has 
been floating thus along, and many more might come ere 
it should fall upon the open soil to rest. Or perhaps it 
had but just set out, and ere the morning dawn, its little 
errand would be done. To us ' tis aU the same, for who 
heeds its hght passage, or asks the object of its mission 



SKETCHES. 



275 



forth. Yet let us not forget the lesson it may give ; that 
its course is not unguided, but it is to fall upon some 
genial sod, and when the wintry storms are passed, the 
httle seed it bears will bud and blossom. 

The autumn leaf, which, circhng round and round, in 
silence falls upon the earth, ^vithin its bosom bears no 
seed, the embryo promise of another spring ; but the 
winds of night huny it away ; the snows of winter bury 
it in bro^vn decay ; its freslmess can never be restored ; 
but the httle thistle-down, in the still, warm horn*, comes 
forth from its thorny home, and raised aloft upon its silver 
plumage, passes on by His command and care, whose 
hand supports and guides alike its aiiy circle, or the 
wheeling orb on which we hve. 

And we, like it, shall pass away. To us it is unknown 
whether the weariness and woes of a long pilgrimage be 
ours, or to be gathered in that full unequal harvest, not 
alone of ripened fruit and ready bending sheaves, but 
earhest, fairest flowers. Nor matters it. The priceless 
gift of life, with all its sweet endearments, is not to us a 
blessmg, if its noble object be unfulfilled. Permitted by 
our Savior's constant intercession, still to rejoice in this 
world so full of beauty, let us not forget there are bright 
visions of gloiy and beauty in the world above ; here are 
the lovely and beloved of our bosoms, but we are to 
prepare ourselves for intercourse with the angels, for the 
friendship of God ? Here are spread before us the reve- 
lations of our Father's attributes — so deep, mysterious 
and sublime, that we almost shrink before them; yet 
these are but the rudiments of those lessons it will be 
one bliss to learn above ; and when from these we turn, 
thirsting for fuller displays, then shall we rise and be led 
to the fountam of knowledge. With adoration on our 
Hps, we shall no longer with trembling hand scai'ce ven° 



276 



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ture to turn the pages of His wisdom, but encouraged by 
bis smile, we may look into those tilings we know not 
now. 

Then let us hasten in the path of knowledge, for its 
brightness will lead us on to endless life and light. 

THE MESSENGER OF PEACE. 

" How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that 
bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace." 

When the warriors of the Hebrew tribes went up 
against their enemies, and lingered long upon the battle- 
field, in dreadful conflict for their homes, their holy city, 
and their temple, and fear and faith alternate kept their 
watch with the faint and feeble left behind ; when the 
flocks failed, and the vine drooped because of the hand 
of the oppressor, and darkness was upon all the land for 
sorrow ; then how beautiful upon the distant mountains 
seemed the feet of Him who came with words of 
" Peace," and song of " Victory ! " Blessings sprang up 
as he passed; the dull eye brightened as it beheld him ; 
and the heavy ear, listening, trembling, welcomed the 
echo of his voice ; the weak hand was nerved again to 
labor, and the trembling knee grew strong; " the little 
hills rejoiced on every side, and all the trees of the field 
clapped their hands." That messenger passed on, and 
years rolled by; that song of victory ceased, and they 
who fought, and they who listened, followed with life's 
busy, ever-moving multitade to the silent grave. So 
brighten and decay the hopes and joys of earth. 

But lo, another song awoke, and angels joined the 
strain ; another messenger appeared, and there was light. 
God was reconciled to earth. Centuries have passed ; 



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277 



stili, onward as he travels in liis strength, fi-om the dark 
places of the earth the shadows flee away; the wilder- 
ness and the solitary places are glad, and the desert re- 
joices and blossoms as the rose ; the lame man leaps to 
meet him, and the tongue of the dumb sings for joy ; 

" The dwellers in the vales, and on the rocks 
Shout to each other ; and the mountain tops, 
From distant mountains, catch the flying joy." 

The Prince of Peace has come, and He shall reign 
from the river unto the ends of the earth, and of His 
kingdom there shall be no end. 

On many lands has His glory risen, and His blessed 
name been wiitten. Now as He speaks in love -^^thin 
the bosom where His Spirit dwells, enkindling there a 
more intense zeal for His glory. He advances before His 
people, inviting them onward to " teach all nations," to 
scatter among them that word once received by the 
dispensation of angels and of Clnist himself, but now 
consigned a sacred trnst to His chnrch. His Providence 
prepares the way; and, although this may sometimes be 
but dimly seen, and, thi'ough long months of gloomy dis- 
couragement, no light appear save that wliich trembling 
faith descries upon the promises, yet have His people 
learned to tnlst His word, and wait, although He tarry 
long, knowing that He that shall come will come. By 
means to them unknown, is He surely preparing to claim 
the inheritance of the heathen for His own. Every 
prayer of faith is treasured, the smallest sanctified offer- 
ing for His cause, is recorded, and each distinguished in 
heaven, by some influence in undermining the founda- 
tions of the throne of sin. Every year, are results of 
these made known to earth. From the north, and from 
the south are borne tidings of salvation ; from the isles 

24 



II 



278 



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of the sea comes up the same joyful sound ; and now 
o'er the West " the day breaketh." The poox Indian has 
hailed the servants of Immanuel, and as his ready faith 
embraces the Cross, new peace and joy begin to cheer 
his lonely wigwam. 

The followers of Christ in our happy land lift up their 
eyes to those once " gloomy hills of darkness," and be- 
holding afar off the spreading light, gather at the feet of 
Jesus, and mingling their thanksgivings with these new- 
born disciples, exclaim together with them, " How beau- 
tiful upon the mountains are the feet of Him that bringeth 
good tidings, that pubUsheth peace." 

HOME. 
"Love unchanged is there." 

Autumn, bright, lovely autumn has been here. In 
silence it passed along and decked our daily paths with 
many colored gifts ; it breathed upon our clustering for- 
ests, and they suddenly in richest beauty stood ; upon 
the atmosphere it breathed, and morning dawned with 
purer light; the noonday sun looked down with softened 
rays upon the smiling earth, and slowly sank at night 
below the western horizon, sending up his latest beams 
m calmer, more celestial glory. 

Autumn has been here, and although its purple robe 
now lingers upon the distant hills, and its bh.ish still 
brightens the cold clouds of nightfall, yet the shadows 
of approaching winter are gathering fast, and falling even 
at our feet. The trees, which, a few days since were 
bright in changing drapery, have cast aside their withered 
leaves, and stand prepared to wrestle with the storm. 
All the beautiful and frail of summer's creation have 



SKETCHES. 



2Y9 



faded quick away, and the wind moans by over their de- 
parture. Lonely, and melancholy the heart looks within 
— it turns to the dear enclosm*e of home affections, to 
gather richer sweets from the amaranths of the bright 
fireside. 

Home — a thousand blessings on the word ! I sigh to 
hail it once again. Ye days and nights, which in diurnal 
course encircle our earth, fly swiftly on, and bring the 
welcome hour. 

Ye weeks which frown between us, haste away ; ye 
chilling frosts, haste ; with your icy fingers, in the still 
midnight, tinge with deeper shade these seared fields ; 
bid the latest bird which lingers here, to spread its wdngs 
and hasten off to warmer skies, to groves perennial ; — 
for' when these have ceased their notes, perhaps I may 
go home. Ye streams, in gently murmuring numbers, 
haste — pass swiftly on beyond the eastern shore, for 
when ye there are mingled with the deep — perhaps I 
iuay go home. Ye little timorous race, which come with 
light and rustling steps to gather nuts among the leaves 
— haste with your store to the home wliich Providence 
has given 3?^ou ; when ye are sheltered there from hoary 
winter's storm, I too perhaps shall be at home I 

But has Providence thus marked the course of day 
and night — thus given skill to the cold frost- spirit which 
art can never imitate — thus seasonably does He 
clothe the trees, and nourish every leaf — thus grant pro- 
tection to the birds through the long summer months, thus 
guide their flight to warmer skies — thus does He provide 
food and shelter for the defenceless animals, and insect 
tribes — thus with His finger trace the course of these fit- 
tie brooks, and mingle their waters lovingly with the high 
waves of ocean unlost? And is this the same Being 
who remembers all our wants? who will never be one 
moment absent from our side ? Nearer is He than any 



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friend can be to its — between us and the air which fans 
our cheek — between ns and the hght which gathers 
round us; and when death shall come. He will place 
his wing of Love between the mortal and the spiritual^ 
that the last enemy slay us not ! 

Be at home ! This beauteous world in which we live 
was framed, and is preserved by our kind Father, for 
His household ; the fragrant morn, and dewy, holy eve, 
the glorious sun, and silver moon, and glittering stars 
are His — are ours. Then if beside our Father's seat 
we are reclining on His breast, communing with His 
children — this is home — until He brings us to rejoice 
in His visible glory, to the general assembly and church 
of the first-born, to the society of angels, to the sister 
spirits of the just made perfect, in that better home, even 
our heavenly ! . 



A SKETCa 



The little brown cottage by the road side, — how well 
do I remember the moss-grown roof and dark decaying 
sides, which marked it as the oldest in our village. It 
had never known the hypocritic gloss of paint, but ever 
proudly wore its venerable native hue, as a memento of 
the many years and storms which had gathered above 
it, and passed away, leaving it bright and cheerful in its 
advanced age ; and as if the very sunbeams delighted 
to honor and irradiate this humble relic of the past, it 
was the first object upon which they rested, after gliding 
over the wooded hill-top that close sheltered it on the . 
east. Then there was the warm greensward sloping 
down before the door, — the ancient oak in front, spread- 
ing its broad deep shade around, — the old stone wali 



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281 



skirting the way, and the large groups of sweet-briar 
adorning the windows, and interlacing their long fresh 
wreaths &ven to the roof, as in friendly effort to conceal 
the seams and scars which time will leave, and make 
conspicuous, despite such fair and frail attempts to hide 
them. 

All things without were old, almost beyond the retro- 
spect of the quiet villagers, and all within contemporary. 
The clumsy dark gi-een chairs, v/liich were never known 
to wander from theu* stations, save for purposes of 
hospitality, and, their kindly office done, to be directly 
remanded to pristine dignity and silence, — the blackened 
mahogany table, \vith its round, polished leaves, and 
curved, slim legs, occup^dng the space between the front 
windows, — the small mirror over it, with its highly tmted 
glass border, and elaborately cai*ved frame, — the cup- 
board in the corner, revealing through the open door its 
shining treasures of pewter plates and "lustre ware," 
the antique chest of dravrers, — and then — all the room 
so still, with no disturbing sound but from the faithful 
old clock ; surely never clock ticked so loud as that 
which filled a recess in this little parlor, and sent its 
sharp vibrations in painful monotony upon the ear of 
procrastination and idleness. As if petted for long fidel- 
ity, it firmly stood and told the truth to all, and never 
failed strikingly to remind each visitant that the mistress 
of the mansion, as well as itself — kept good hours. 

But the most important item of the inventory is yet to 
be added, the owner and sole occupier of all this mag- 
nificence — Widow Allen, or "Aunt Maria," as was her 
more affectionate and universal appellation. Near the 
window, in a cushioned elbow-chair, day by day, she 
sat, with the same blackdress, wliite neck-kercliief, and 
close muslin cap, neatly fitted above her wrinkled brow, 
24* 



282 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



and bound about with a broad black ribbon ; sometimes 
emplo^^ed in knitting for some of her favorite httle vis- 
iters, but oftener reading from that Book which was her 
hourly companion, with a countenance which seemed 
wearing more and more of heavenly serenity, as the day 
nearer approached in which she should lay aside the in- 
firmities of age, to be arrayed in glory and immortal youth. 

She has long since gone to her rest; but I love to con- 
template the picture traced upon my young memory's 
page in still unfadeid calors, to listen again to the kind, 
affectionate voice which is now, doubtless, mingling in 
the melodies of the " new song " above. 

I recall many a long, bright, Saturday afternoon passed 
in the old brown cottage, and with it many a lesson from 
wisdom and experience, which time has not purloined. 
Often, when childish disappointments had saddened my 
spirits, the promise of a visit to Aunt Maria had power 
to dispel all grief; ot if the difficult test of self-denial 
must be practised, this was ever the summum lonum, in 
which every other good was forgotten. My toilette made 
in more than common care, and attended with oft 
repeated instructions how to present my compliments, I 
have set forth upon the narrow foot-path leading to Aunt 
Maria's, sure of meeting her at the door with cordial 
smile, and kiss of hospitality. A low seat by her side 
was my birth-right and pride, and then perhaps she 
would kindly amuse me with descriptions of by-gone 
fashions, and to aid my fancy, permit my wandering eyes 
to survey the rich dresses of damask which adorned her 
own person " when a girl ;" and passing from these, relate 
with increasing enthusiasm, stories of the Revolution, 
and enkindle my patriotism by tales of the invading 

Regulars ;" then finish her narratives with a sigh over 
these scenes of a world where she now stood alone — 



SKETCHES. 



283 



whose changes she no longer anxiously observed, and 
from wliich she was just departmg ; — interest, and hope, 
and joy were hers, but all beyond the grave. 

Often she would again place before her the well-worn 
Bible, and continue the pious exercise which my intrusive 
visit had briefly suspended, wllile I hstened in silence to 
the birds as they went singing past the window, and 
watched the sunlight as it glanced in upon the shutter, 
gradually extending across the old table and stretching 
away upon the neatly sanded floor. Sometimes closing 
its holy pages, and slowly removing her spectacles, she 
would place her hand upon my head and tell m.e of that 
precious faith which was first imparted to her from the 
sacred word — how it had gladdened all her pilgrimage, 
bringing sweet joy to blend with every scene of sorrow, 
and gilding her happiest hours with heavenly purity and 
peace ; and how, while the eye, and the ear, and the taste, 
had lost their quick perception, faith more clearly dis- 
cerned the fairer visions of that " better land," was impa- 
tient to join in swelling the chorus of its praises, and 
often drank of the "river of the water of life." 

Her years had exceeded the threescore and ten ap- 
pointed for this state of existence, and had been more 
than ordinarily attended with painful vicissitude ; but 
fij-m trust in God had been the prevailing characteristic 
of her Christian course ; no murmuring of complaint was 
ever heard upon her lips. Once, as she had told me how 
short her life appeared, how it had passed away but as a 
dream, she alluded with tears to this discipline of her 
Almighty Father, and added, in words which I have ever 
remembered, " If, through the merits of Jesus Christ, I 
may be admitted hereafter to an inheritance with the 
redeemed in light, I doubt not but I shall then look back 
upon the way through which I have been led, and know 



284 



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that I could never have arrived at that blessedness with 
one trial less, or different from what His wisdom has 
allotted me." 

Soon after this a summons to that " inheritance " came, 
and she went up peacefully to possess it. The little 
cottage was deserted, the windows and doors were 
closed, the sw^eet-briar survived awhile, but as no one 
watched its blossoming, or blessed its fragi'ance, it drooped 
and died. After a few seasons the building was re- 
moved, and all trace of Aunt Maria's existence was ob- 
literated from the village. True, the sunlight rests every 
morning upon the spot, and the beautiful rainbow often 
bends over it as before, yet these are heavenly witnesses, 
and but testify that her " record is on high." 

No headstone marks the spot of her repose. A new 
burial ground at some distance now receives the unre- 
turning traveller to its bourne, so that the old place of 
sepulchre is undisturbed even by the mournful prepara- 
tions for accessions to their silent multitude. But 
although forgetfulness surrounds the grave, on what the 
heart has treasured no change can be traced ; over 
Christian influence death and decay have no power; 
nay, even by these is it sanctified, and still increasing 
unto the day when it shall be more fully revealed. 

Amid apparently dark dispensations of providence, I 
shall ever remember the words of Aunt Maria, " In joy, 
in grief, forget Him not, forsake Him not, and His love 
will make all things plain." 

NOTES OF MEMORY. 

When from the busy haunts of life, we turn to scenes 
close linked with other days, how striking seem to us the 



5KErCfl£S. 



285 



tmaltered features of the soil: how readily comes up 
with every rock and leaf, some fond, almost faded recol- 
lection. The little brook, upon whose grassy brink we 
have sat through many long, long lioiu-s, still sends its 
miurmuring waters on their seaward course. The narrow 
path we trod before our young feet had ventiured out 
npon tiie weary walks of life, whose quiet course we 
knew would lead us from the sultry noon away to dewy 
shade, where the song of birds was sweetest and the 
wild flower gave a richer fragrance, invites us again to 
trust its unchanged aspect The same lulls which once 
smiled upon us, still look a benediction upon our stranger 
forms ; the same trees we once gathered around, extend 
their loug arms, as in welcome ; and while 'mid these 
happy thoughts, it seems as if scarce a day had passed 
since last we gazed iqpon them, we turn to meet the 
friends once so dear to us ] the hand we seek to clasp 
grows still and cold ; the voice we hsten for is heard 
alone in heaven. A tide of eventfid years rushes by, 
separating us widely and for ever, from the almost 
retiumiDg visions of the past 

* * # ^ * * 

TVTiere the hill-side slopes towards the setting sim, shel- 
tered from the eastern breeze by an o'erhangiag bank, a 
sweet bright spot smiles in perennial green. A few lux- 
uriant maples stand around, hke faithnil sentinels, to 
guard this quiet resting place of spring. When the 
hand of autumn has touched all else with its hectic col- 
oring, and summer creations fade before its frosty breath, 
this httle spot still wears the seal of beauty, even upon 
the lap of decay ; and- when the reign of winter is passed, 
when he gathers up his mantle of snow, and sweeps 
away from the sere fields, no trace of his power is here ; 
the angel of death passes over it in silence, and the first 



286 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



warm sunbeams glance upon their favorite, rejoicing to 
find it already wakened from the dreary repose. 

When but a child, I gazed upon its mysterious loveli- 
ness, and wondered much that no cloud, or storm, or 
frost, had power to chill or change its ever-during 
brightness. One long summer day, with her who was 
the companion of my walks, I sought this little nook, and 
found the secret of its fadeless beauty — a warm, fresh 
spring was oozing up, bedewing all the grass and leaves 
with its first sparkling flow. 

Years have passed since then, and He who numbers 
all our days with change, has called to His own bosom 
her whose words and smiles were sweeter far than, 
sunlight to my life ; yet, morn and evening, as my eyes 
linger upon that emerald bed, there comes a memory of 
her which sanctifies that lonely spot. Again I see her 
beckoning with her hand to its gushing waters; again 
she bends towards me in love — 'tis but a moment; too 
pure for this grosser life, such angel visits may not last; 
commissioned to sprinkle freshness o'er our course, to 
shed anew the influence of their pure example — and 
return. 

O I gently o'er the tablet of the heart come the linea- 
ments of the loved and lost; sweet, 'mid the ruffling trials 
of life, are the cherished remembrances of the departed; 
a halo, like the almost visible presence of their spirits, 
rests upon the paths they trod with us ; but from the grave 
which conceals them, around the silent chambers where 
they repose in death, there beams a more celestial glory. 
As we pause here, where mortality, trembling, hid itself 
before the immortal and eternal, the clamorous cares of 
Hfe retreat away; the train of its wild wishes withdraws 
from the bosom; there is no place for them so near the 
bom-ne, where they must one day cease for ever: but the 



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287 



spirit comes alone, to commune with its deep aifections, 
which it would now fain raise to the home of the spirit, 
and to the society of those who have gone up thither. 

Merciful indeed is the providence wliich has called 
the beloved from our side, that it may open to us these 
clear springs of water, in the rough and barren waste of 
life ; which has withdrawn from our too dazzling merid- 
ian these beams of friendsliip, that the daAvning of the 
infinite light within us may brighten into "perfect day." 

Higher and holier is the blessing given, than the 
sweet boon it first recalled. Yet love does sometimes 
sadly turn towards the past; a tone, a glance, will thrill 
along the chords of feeling, wakening buried associa- 
tions, till we half forget the power of death. Joy smiles 
within us — our steps hasten to meet the absent — but 
tl^py come not forth; then when the hstening ear is 
pained by the unbroken silence, when there is no answer 
to the dear familiar name which trembles on our lips; 
when the eye which watches for their smiling counte- 
nance is dimmed with tears, O, what a cliilhng shadow 
falls upon the heart I But they are in heaven — and we 
shall meet them there; this is om- star of hope. We 
trace their flight to that unchanging glory in which they 
rest, and feel ourselves new linked to heaven; the dark- 
ness and tears which first enshrouded us, become but as 
the softly gathered shades of evening, with its sprinkled 
dews, to pmify the atmosphere, and prepare us calmly 
and quietly to go and share their long slumbers, when 
the night of death shall have cast its deep, dark shadows 
upon our short and troublous day of hfe. 



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WATCH-NIGHT. 

How still and holy is this hour! it is the noon of 
night. The moon and stars from their high spheres look 
steadily down upon the silent city; even the wintry 
night winds, which have swept up so coldly from the 
waters, are in this sacred moment hushed, as if the 
mysterious influence which now rests upon the spirit, 
and with freshly imparted divinity prepares it to hold 
most solemn converse with its God, were touching all 
things above us and around, until they feel his presence, 
and a voice from the earth, the wands, and the far off 
stars, proclaims to the adoring soul — the Lord, the Lord 
is here I He whose wisdom pervades the secrets ,of 
creation, and upon whose word the pillars of the world 
w^ere based, has come down, and placing His hand upon 
the springs of time, again measures out to man another 
period of duration, another swiftly revolving circle of 
hope and fear, of joy and sorrow, of life and death. 

Well may we bow and worship before Him, while His 
infinite mercy offers to faithless servants so rich a gift; 
and meet it is that we receive the wondrous boon with 
prayer and watching. • By the year now gliding from 
us, yielding its latest message ere it closes its record in 
eternity, and by the dread responsibilities with which 
the coming new one shall invest us, we are called alike 
to penitence, to prayer — and, therefore, " watch." 

In guilty alienation from the promised rest of " perfect 
love " and faith, our free inheritance, we watch as those 
who, in a gloomy night, when death and danger were 
abroad, watched, and trusted that the sprinkled blood 
upon their humble dwelhngs should meet the eye and 



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289 



stay the ami of Him who, with the sword of justice 
bared, was passing over the land. But a hope which 
speaketh better things is ours. Though the polhited 
record which the closing year now bears to Heaven is 
open to the gaze of uncreated purity, with penitential 
tears, yet humble faith, we glance beyond this searching 
sight, to where a milder glory beams for man to look 
upon — to the changeless throne of mercy ; and there 
already has the blood as of a lamb newly slain washed 
all that guilt away — because our Kedeemer lives, we 
live also. 

• We live awhile on earth, and therefore watch ; for in 
every hour of this varying scene we are sowing the 
seed of which we are to reap in that unending state 
to which we hasten ; of daily joys and daily trials, that 
fearful harvest is preparing ; from God alone must come 
the constant aid to sow the seed aright, by whose grace 
and smile it shall ripen and increase, and yield to us the 
fruit of endless life. 

Grief, too, has been mingled with the past, and from 
the hand of change and death we gathered oft a bitter 
portion, and therefore watch, ere we advance, lest those 
tokens of His presence be withdrawn, so long our guide, 
our glory and defence ; for in the way which we must 
tread are many dangers, and sorrows still will grow 
together with our joys until the end shall come. But an 
end shall come — a full and glorious end to anxious care, 
and grief, and every fear ; for He has numbered them. 
When the heart, thoroughly purified, shall no more need 
refining grief ; and wayward faith, taught by afflicting 
mercy, shall fasten steadily upon the rock Christ Jesus ; 
and hope, cleansed from all the earthly aspirations which 
now dim its lustre, shall brighten in the hght of " perfect 
day" — then to the society of those dear ones who have 

25 



^90 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



jomed the sainted band above, to all the spirits of the 
just, and to Himself, in His own glorious abode, will He 
welcome us ; therefore, now we pray, that when the end 
shall be, and He shall come to summon us before Him, 
whether it be at the eve of this new year, or in the 
middle of its course, or when the morning of another 
dawns. He may find us " watching." 

THE STRENGTH OF THE PROMISES. 

' Fading, still fading, the last beam is shining," and 
evening with pale reflected light, and deep silent shadows 
comes to shut the closing day, and fix its seal for ever 
upon the unre turning hours. We mourn not at its soft 
decline, for we know that beyond our darkened horizon 
another sky is gilded with glowing light, and that when 
oight shall have silenced the hum of business, and have 
given to careful, wearied man, repose and joy, day shall 
a.gain dawn upon retiring night, and paternal love call us 
from its grave-like slumbers forth to hope and duty ; for 
God has promised this; and so long as "day and night" 
witness the faithfulness of His ancient covenant, even 
Without the humble breath of prayer, or song of praise, 
so grateful to His ear, those who never think upon the 
grace which gives, lie down secure upon His promise. 

But they whose hearts are hallowed by His sacred 
name, may gaze upon a scene like this, and feel the holy 
influence of that more glorious covenant blending with 
the hour. There was a time when sin impelled the first 
gailty heart to seek to hide itself from God, and o'er the 
offender's gloomy pathway drew a cloud of unmingled 
fear and wretchedness, when one by one he sought the 
gifts of former peace, and joy, and found that all were 



SKETCHES. 



lost ! there was no life nor hope. But then, O then, 
one light arose ; steady and bright it gleamed along his 
way, and through the dark valley and shadow of death, 
revealed a calm and glorious passage ; it \vns, the word 
of God, it was the light of promise. Fallen man hearc 
the voice of mercy, and looked upward ; amid the ruins 
of his nature, faith- was born ; then hope rekindled, arid 
peace and joy restored their gifts, because the offered 
sacrifice could purchase all again. That promise has 
not failed, the world has seen Emmanuel ; and His aj-- 
pointed en-and wrought, those who once by faith beheld 
His glory afar off, have, with attending angels, welcomed 
Him back to Heaven. And His promise still is sure to 
those who lean alone upon its strength ! How shall this 
be measured, how compared ? By the temptations of 
earth? The path of our pilgrimage may be spread with 
dazzling, illusive hght, with dearest, sweetest, yet most 
fatal seeming good, but guarding us, there is an eye which 
never, slumbers, an anxi never weaiy in our defence, and 
love more tender and watchful than is a mother's for the 
babe she bore ; they are His who spoke the promises in 
wliich we trust, therefore will not we fear; though many 
mighty have been slain when He was forgotten, yet in 
Him is the strength of the weakest perfected. Shall 
we measure it by the trials of life? These may gather 
blackness around us, and like an unrelenting storm leave 
but a wreck behind of all the heart had prized so much ; 
yet upon a scene like this, has faith in the word of Grod 
arisen, and declared that the sufferings of this present 
life are not worthy to be compared with the glory which 
is to be revealed after death — and death itself shall 
fail — is changed before a stronger than he. Death, 
then, we hail thee as a friend, though thy hand be cold 
in greeting, and the shadow of thy wing be damp and 



292 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



dark upon lis, and dust the pillow to which thou dost in- 
vite the weary head — for with thee comes the promise ; 
and when thy seal shall be upon the mortal placed, 
then shall the immortal soar blissfully upward to the 
new possession of its purchased inheritance. 

Sweet, O sweet, with the parting breath, comes the 
release from temptation and trial, from pain, and pov- 
erty, and sin ; and welcome, triumphantly welcome, the 
messenger who looses the silver cord which detained the 
spirit here, and in one rapturous moment presents it for 
ever calm and glorified before the throne. 

I knew of one, an aged man, unknown to friendship, 
a son of poverty yet an heir of God, a friend of Jesus 
Christ's, who daily shared His blessing, and ever to His 
Spirit gained a stronger likeness. Years had gone by, 
and while tears and trials sadly numbered them, his up- 
right soul was peaceful still, and hourly held so inti- 
mate communion with his God, that faith was almoi^t 
lost in sight, and the rich promises of the holy word 
were to him as present realties. The hour of his trans- 
lation drew nigh. It was a bright Sabbath noon, and 
the many bells of the full city were summoning the peo- 
ple each to their house of prayer. The streets were 
crowded with the active human tide which passed along. 
But he was in an upper room alone with Grod. No pil- 
low sustained his venerable head, and no voice of pity 
'or affection had sounded in liis ear for many days ; yet 
without a friend on earth, lying upon his straw pallet, 
while the cold wintry winds whistled through the crev- 
ices of the apartment, and the snows of heaven wreathed 
the rafters above his head, the strength of the promises 
was his ; and the companionship of angels, and the con- 
scious presence and the love of God supplied every 
want 



SKETCHES. 



29a 



A kind stranger, informed of his penury, came to re- 
move him to a more comfortable abode. He approached 
the old man, whose eyes were closed and his lips moving 
as in silent prayer. Bending o'er him, he tenderly ex- 
plained the object of his coming. Slowly the poor man 
opened his eyes, as the strange human tones recalled his 
thoughts to earth again, and seemed, not to comprehend 
what had been spoken. " I have come, sir, to remove 
you to a place where you can be more comfortable," 
repeated the visitant. Fixing his wandering glance upon 
the stranger, his eye grew steadily bright, as the film of 
death was for a moment withdrawn from itj a radiant 
smile kindled upon his features, then raising himself 
upon his bed of straw, he looked upward, and in a firm, 
voice exclaimed, "My dear sir, you are too late— you 
are too late. The chariot of Israel, and the horsemen 
thereof, have been waiting for me all the morning." 
And he clasped his pale hands and shouted the blessed 
name of Him in whom he triumphed, but almost ere the 
echo of his song had ceased, the mantle which he had 
worn on earth fell aside, and he was not, for God took 
him. 

"LOOKING UNTO JESUS." 

Turn, weary spirit, " restless wanderer after rest forget 
awhile the mingling din of life, and bid the busy wheels 
of earthly thought stand still. The hour of evening sac- 
rifice is here, and One awaits thine offering. Constant 
as the flight of time, and rich beyond all price has been 
His mercy's daily store to thee. Then let thy song arise, 
and let the noble gift thou wilt now return to Him, awake 
in praise some guardian angel's harp ; this, this we know 
is ready, but where is thy lamb, reluctant spirit ? 
25* 



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A heart torn and diseased, and marred in every way by 
sin, O thou Holy One, is now upon thy sacred altar laid. 
Of all which thou hast given, this, only this, have I to 
bring ! But ah ! can grateful incense rise to thee from 
such polluted source ?' Can the eye of Infinite purity 
beam forth one ray or favor upon the sinner and the 
sinner's gift ? Author of all being and all peace, foun- 
tain of light and blessedness, throned arriid dazzling, 
changeless, limitless expanse, eternity thine empire, ho- 
liness thy nature, my feeble, fearful spirit shrinks before 
thee, and would fain hide in the dust from thy presence ; 
hastening from the threshold of thy glorious courts, I 
leave my gift upon the altar, and should relentless wrath 
consume it there, thou art righteous still. 

But a gracious voice reaches my ear. I turn again, 
and lo ! the wing of mercy stoops to take the worthless 
offering up ; its pollution is washed away ; light from 
thy throne arrays it, and reveals a new and fair inscrip- 
tion there which marks it as thine ovm, for O, before 
thine awful majesty, there stands a sacrifice of noblest 
name ; the title which his death secured I take, and dare 
to wait and gaze upon the glorious victim there, and 
while, as newly slain, his blood cleanses to the removing 
of all iniquity, the ever-blessed spirit breathes of peace ; 

" For ever here my rest shall be, 
Close to thy bleeding side." 

And when " sorrow weighs my spirit down," or anxious 
care shall cast its fettering toils upon my way, or fears 
ensnare, or sin — the deadliest and the worst of ills — 
shall make me tend towards earth again, then shall the 
eye of faith be turned, looking unto Jesus." His hand 
once blessed the cup of sorrow, and if the tearful eye 
be raised to Him, the draught is fraught with joy — 



SKETCHES. 



295 



tiimultuous cares and fears obey him still, and at his 
feet shall all subside, and sin, for give?! sin, shall bind me 
there in ceaseless gratitude, " looking unto Jesus," until 
changed into the same image, from glory to glory ; thus 
when He shall appear, I shall be like him, and ever see 
him as he is." 

" TO-DAY IF YE WILL HEAR HIS VOICE, HARDEN 
NOT YOUR HEARTS." 

The traveller who presses eagerly forward upon his 
devious path, and sighs to reach his journey's end, may 
forget awliile his haste and weariness, and pause to enjoy 
the lovely scenes around him. He may seek a tempo- 
rary shelter by the way, and tarry for a time, even though 
the 'sun is dechning to the horizon, or storms are gather- 
ing and threatening above him, for another dami awaits 
him, and when the storm is past, another day cheered by 
the glorious sunlight will again invite liim onward. But 
he who travels to the eternal world is bound upon a 
course which admits of no delay. From earliest morn- 
ing light, wliile the dew of youth is upon liim, must he 
steadily advance ; for that morning in its freslniess is 
fleeting, and returns not again — the eveniug of death 
comes quickly, and no moiTow dawns upon it. There 
is no friendly shelter into wliich he may safely enter 
and forget among the wayside pleasures that his mis- 
sion is not there. But looking for and hasting unto 
the celestial and eternal scenes which await Mm at that 
journey's end, must he watclifully advance to secure an 
inheritance in the mansions of everlasting rest, for en- 
compassed with difficulties, and girded with weakness 
as with a garment, in an unexpected moment he may fall, 
and sink to rise no more. 



296 



SELECT WRITiNGS. 



Anne and Eliza were sisters, and their hearts blended 
together in all the sacred and tender sympathies with 
which sisterly affection is blessed. They had passed 
from childhood to the bloom and pride of jT-outh, sharing 
the same scenes and led by the same counsels; yet, as 
their characters matured, there was gradually developed 
a difference in mental attributes, which might have been 
occasioned by the operation of early incidents, or might 
be more directly referable to dissimilar elementaiy con- 
stitution. 

Anne, the eldest, possessed a mind strongly marked 
by decision and firmness. Ardent in her attachments, 
but deep in her prejudices, deliberate in her judgment, 
steady and aspiring in purpose, she was, but for one 
important defection, well qualified to assume the influ- 
ence she had early acquired over her younger sister. 
Eliza was gentle and affectionate ; the impulses of her 
warm heart frequently swept away her prejudices and 
purposes — even her judgment sometimes lost its power to 
weigh and regulate, while kindly feelings were pleading 
in her breast. If she at any time mistook error for truth, 
cheerfully and eagerly she returned to correct the devia- 
tion ; so much did her faults lean to virtue's side, that 
they seldom gave offence to any — " none knew her but 
to love, none named her but to praise." 

But one vast, dark error had entliralled them in its 
gloom — they were born under its influence, and nurtured 
under its shadow. Parental instruction, only in this un- 
kind, had pointed their early hopes and inquiries to 
heaven as the final home of all mankind ; where, passing 
from the restless and sinful engagements of life, all 
might at once enter, nor pause first to cleanse their 
robes, and make them white in the blood of the Lamb. 



SKETCHES. 



297 



Eliza's mind was charmed with false notions of such 
a manifestation of the universal love, and she questioned 
not concerning the justice which opposes it, by reward- 
ing every man according to his work; nor the purity 
which forbids it, by excluding from His presence what- 
soever is unholy or unclean. Instead of grasping the 
cross, as the true and affecting manifestation of this 
love, or presenting the humble prayer of faith by it, as 
the only condition of entrance within the pearly gates, 
she trusted in the abounding mercy of God, nor saw that 
fearful justice is the fii*st and brightest evidence of that 
adorable mercy. 

Anne adopted the early instruction, and it grew with 
her strong mind, and struck deeply among her preju- 
dices, and wove itself balefully in all her opinions and 
purposes, until she became to those aronnd her a blind 
leader of the blind ; and she who would have shone as 
a star in the Christian life, proudly closed her heart 
against the very source from which all the excellencies 
of her character were unknowingly borrowed. 

I knew them when, for a time removed to a distance 
from their home, they were associated with an interest- 
ing company of youth, who were gathered together from 
day to day in the pursuit of knowledge. And that school 
was a sanctified fountain ; there was not an apartment 
under its roof which had not been often visited by the 
Holy Spirit — nor a resident there who had not witnessed 
its effects — nor a place of gathering to them which had 
not been hallowed by humble prayer and faithful moni- 
tion ; it was of God a chosen place — a sanctuary near 
to heaven. 

Scarcely had the interesting duties of teacher and 
pupil commenced anew, when the Spirit of God was 



298 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



again revealed, and the young circle bowed before Him 
as the tender grass bows before the wind, and earthly- 
sins, and earthly desires, and ambitious motives were 
laid low in the dust ; hearts which had been given to 
the world alone, were taken back and laid upon the altar 
of God, and the new hopes, the rich prospects, the joy 
unspeakable, all the Christian's wealth of blessedness, 
were at once opened around them, and almost clad them 
in the brightness of a celestial vision. Those days are 
upon record in that school as fairest among the fair — 
and. upon record, doubtless, before the throne above. 
O ! who shall tell of them here, and show how such reg- 
istry of grace imparted shall be met at that day wliich 
shall declare them. 

Anne and Eliza, hitherto gay and careless, watched. 
with amazement this mysterious change — the evident 
appearing of the Spirit ; and while it shook their falla- 
cious creed to the base, together they stood by the 
broken shackles, retaining silent hold. Eliza's heart 
could not remain callous to the truth; she could not 
banish from her mind the emotions which were strug- 
gling there; as she listened to the stirring appeals 
addressed to them, tears w^ould swell in her eyes, and 
the flush of feeling went and came upon her cheeks. 
Stung by the fear of endless death — won by the ex- 
ceeding love of Christ — her heart relented, and resolved 
to offer all to Him ; she went and knelt among the peni- 
tents at the altar for prayer. Higher pride now kindled 
in the bosom of Anne. Her countenance assumed a 
strange expression of opposition, and wrapping herself 
in hardness and prejudice, she remained an inexorable 
spectator of the weeping company. 

The cold reserve with which she next met her con- 
victed sister, and the haughty scorn with which she 



SKETCHES. 



299 



treated all solicitations to seek the forgiveness of sin, 
first grieved Eliza — then bewildered her; and, yielding 
to temptation, she began to question the necessity for 
herself of so mucli sorrow for sin, and the temptation 
gained strength ; possibly her sins were trifling, and — 
God was merciful — -and she need not deny herself the 
innocent pleasures of Ufe to please Him — and if there 
were a place of everlasting punishment, surely she 
should not be lost at last, for Christ had died for her. 
And here, although with every moment as she had 
receded from God, the blessed Spirit had been with- 
drawing farther and farther frorii her, yet, inwardly 
pronouncing these precious words, " Christ has died for 
me" there came another and another ray of light from 
the love unwilling to yield her soul to death ; again she 
saw her danger and her only remedy, and weighed the 
present sacrifice against the weight of heavenly glory — 
wept awhile, in unutterable bitterness of soul; then 
chose to leave the matter there : — sometime she would 
seek the pardon now offered, and do the will of God ; 
yes, she would ; wot mdiny years should pass without 
beholding her a faithful follower of Jesus — hut not notv. 

When they were next assembled in the place of 
prayer, while surrounded by those who were anxiously 
mourning over sin, or rejoicing in its forgiveness, she 
remained unaffected, calmly satisfied in her promises to 
the future, nor felt that that calm was but the deadly 
slumber that steals upon the soul after resisting and 
deferring the claims of God. No message of redeeming 
love could woo from her a tear ; no word of solicitous 
caution could startle a fear in her deluded bosom ; that 
visit of mercy had passed away, and her sorrow and her 
promises were forgotten, amid the friends and gayeties 
which had been awaiting her at home. A few brief 



300 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



weeks she enjoyed them; then came a change — a 
fearful change — this luas not her home. Disease came 
suddenly, and those pleasures lost their power to please 
or save. But even here was no place of repentance. 
Not overwhelmed with dismay, not distracted with the 
dissolving agony of life, not beguiled by the reverses of 
a disordered brain, nor obscured in lethargic stupor, did 
she number the last hours of earthly existence ; no I 
but calmly and gradually she went down to death, alone 
— awfully alone, without one whisper of the Spirit, or 
one uttered wish to enter heaven. God, and the Savior, 
and the Holy Ghost, she had forsaken in life, and in 
death they were not near to aid, and cheer, and to 
release. 

O ye, in whose hearts the heavenly messenger of grace 
is visiting, check not the kind voice of entreaty, but listen 
until He shall absorb every other consideration; and, by 
all the solemn words which God hath spoken, by all the 
warnings which His providence has marked, delay not 
to make thy peace with Him. Remember that to delay 
is to neglect, " and how shall we escape if we neglect so 
great salvation ?" 



FRAGMENTS, 



. EVENING, 

The day was fair and beautiful, and, with a sunset of 
surpassing lovehness, withdrew its latest, lingering beams 
of light, and left us with the silent, dewy eve. How full 
of God are the quiet hours of evening — O how full ! 
When cares and the wild anxieties of life are gone with 
man to his retirement, does not the Spirit of God again 
walk forth in " the cool of the day," as if to chase from 
this favorite planet of his care all impress of the busy 
hour's pollution, to hush its troubled elements that another 
morning may dawn upon us, as shone the first dayspring 
upon Eden? 

Around the eastern horizon awhile a rainbow line of 
light was softly resting ; here and there from its broad 
belt some sudden ray shot upward to the sky; then more 
and more went swiftly up, until a little from the zenith, 
they gathered to a point which seemed " quite in the 
verge of heaven." No thought was in my heart, but im- 
pressions vast, o'erwhelming. /thought not, Hived not. 
Clasping my hands, the name by which we speak of the 
" Eternal power," in silence dwelt upon my tongue — and 
yet there was a thought of the moment when the trem- 
bling new-made beams of light at His command hastened 
26 



302 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



to their appointed centre ; then of that moment when all 
the labors under the sun shall be completed, and those 
scattering beams shall hide themselves before " the 
brightness of His coming." 

It was an awful thought. I gazed upon them as they 
seemed hasting onward to the " pearly gates," and longed 
to write upon such swift winged messengers one fervent 
prayer. But then a word came to my soul so pure and 
blissful that it wakes the first and highest note of joy in 
Heaven — ay, Heaven were dark and poor without it — - 
think not to breathe a prayer to pass beyond those dis- 
tant stars, think not to grave it on a beam of light that it 
may pass more swifdy to His courts — but turn within, 
the Tlirone of God is there ! 



" THINGS SEEN ARE TEMPORAL." 

O fleeting, shadowy existence ! a moment's bteath in- 
spired with pain, exhaled with a sigh — is this all that 
thou canst bestow ? A reed inly decayed, already bend- 
ing to the blast — -and this is all that we call life I Upon 
this fleeting moment do we dare presume to freight im- 
mortal things, and look and smile ; around so frail a prop ' 
we wait to gather all our hopes and feel secure, and 
never think how deep within the worm lies hidden; 
but while we forget how silently, ceaselessly he destroys 
we take the hand of friends, are glad with joy, and join 
the merry ranks with them : anticipation gilds the scene, 
hope hghts the eye, and warms the heart, and as it burns 
the brightest, our lips are full of gratidations, when lo I — , 
the hand we grasp is cold, the joyous eye is closed, the i 
flashing tide of hfe is stilled for ever! 

" Thou changest his countenance, and sendest him 



FRAGMENTS. 



303 



away." Life, death, eternity! — and is there then no 
hope ? Ye gorgeous clouds, I see ye as ye float so far 
above our walks of earth ; upon your brightly tinted 
wings have ye no promise of a deathless home ? Ye 
change I ye fade ! then ye were born of earth — upon 
your varying robe I look, and read my own mortality. 

Immense and shadowless ocean, with what words 
shall I address thee ? Surely uncontrolled, eternal thou 
must be, in thy deep, dark solitude ; none may lay de- 
stroying hand upon thy stormy spirit, or chill the vitals of 
thy ever-heaving breast ; and thou shalt live for ever. 
Ah no! In vain thou raisest a breaking billow upon the 
rock on which I stand, and strugglest to be free ; the 
hand which gave such majesty, has thus defined thy 
realm. He gave thee in thy might to be, of all His 
works, most like Himself, emblem of eternity. Change 
f(iid time leave not a trace upon thee. Ages have passed 
over, and left thee fresh as when the new-born stars 
were mirrored in thy deptlis. Yet thou shalt cease to 
be. His word who from out of chaos called thee forth, 
shall wipe tliy floods away even as from the trembling 
leaf the pearly dew-drop is dissolved. Thou shalt not 
go alone ; in that hour the rugged rocks which now en- 
chain thee, the star crowned mountains, earth's deep 
foundations shall be removed, and know no place I — But 
I who gaze on thee, and shrink at thy approaching rage, 
daring scarce listen to thy voice — I shall live for ever — 
not supported by myself or reason's light, but by His 
breath upheld, be made to live for ever, a speck upon 
the never-ebbing ocean of Eternity. 



304 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



MAN ALONE UNGRATEFUL. 

How beautiful is every thing around ; all things par- 
take the glory of each other — but what a sad reverse 
does the heart present. Not a leaf, however sere, of 
yonder forest, but bathes its trembling form in the " all- 
encircling light ; " not a wave or ripple of that stream 
which bears so deep a tide below, but sparkles back its 
gratitude to that golden sky ; not a cloud, heavy and low- 
ering although its brow may be, jand even hiding thunder 
in its breast, but receives, reflects the glittering light ; ~ 
but the heart, all formed to claim alliance with things di- 
vine, and catch a holy revelation through nature's light, 
enwraps itself in its selfish, sinful shadow, and returns 
no answer back of gratitude. Untouched by the 'o e 
which hallows each created thing, it turns away, and in 
the cold, dark caverns of its wicked self it asks for light 
■ — and thus shall no light he given it while thus it asks — 
but let it turn confidingly to Him who blesseth all, and 
light and life shall both be freely given. 

But ingratitude, how like the never-melting snow on 
Atlas' height, it rests its icy weight upon the soul of man, 
unmindful of the sunny favors which beam around. 
Night comes on ; . he rests, his thankless head upon the 
bosom of watchful Providence, and seeks repose, while 
not a lisp of prayer ascends for His protection. Morning 
dawns all gently bright ; he rises from his couch re- 
freshed, but no murmur of gratitude falls from his lips 
to Hhn who gave " His angels charge concerning him," 
through the dark valley of sleep, and bade the day-sta,r 
call him from its death- like shadows forth again. 



FRAGMENTS. 



305 



THE PLEASURE-TAKER WARNED, 

Yes, now's the hour ; I seem to watch her loved face 
as o'er its expressive brow the glow of pleasure steals — 
pleasure ! nay, give not thy heart so formed for purer 
joy to that poor counterfeit. Yet there is the glitter of 
brightest vanity, the fascination of a fairy scene, around 
thy form, when from the uncurtained stage thine eye 
rests upon the brightly tinted trees, and thornless flowers 
so artfully arranged upon the hidden canvass ; and then 
when from their recesses come forth the sweet notes of 
sweetest voices, 'tis, I own, alluring, and, to our love of 
all that's beautiful, appeals so strongly as makes us quite 
forget the danger hidden there — ay, the danger. 

Closely as the gorgeous tinge of those luxuriant trees 
resembles that of nature, so nearly does this fond illusion 
wear the dress of purer pleasure ; those little flowers, 
and distant brooks, and hanging mists, how true they 
seem to life, yet they are not more unreal than the joys 
to which they lend their aid. Behind their borrowed 
smiles are only the coarsest elements ; those flowers 
bear concealed a thorn which, in thy breast, in after 
years, may rankle deep ; those sparkling waters are but 
the emblem of the thought, how futile is the attempt to 
quench thy thirst for happiness at such a poisonous fount 
as only mocks thy appetite ; that o'erhanging mist is like 
the artifice which vice assumes as modesty's own. 

O, be not thus allured ; but as thou sittest to-night 
amid its wild hallucination, O think how to the eye 
kindled with disease would seem its hollow joy ; think 
how to the ear which listens for the word of life in that 
26* 



306 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



quiet, curtained chamber, would sound the music of that 
shattered lyre ; and is not this enough ? • Then think how 
soon even to thy dear person this bitter cup may be pre- 
sented ! — and then thy heart will turn sick within thee 
as the charm unweaves, and thou wilt have gained more 
from the short lesson it unfolds, than in years thus 
yielded to its falsely flattering slirine. 

THE STORM-BIRD'S FLIGHT. 

The glorious sun had all day long looked down in 
majesty upon the parching earth. No drops of rain in 
many days had come to nurse the languid flowers, as 
bending their slender heads, they seemed resigning 
themselves to the calid soil ; till when the dazzling foot- 
steps of the infant dawn had passed the high meridian, 
a purple light began to spread its shade around, and from 
the western horizon a cloud was gathering. Fold upon 
fold, like tlie silver plumage of an angel's wing, it slowly 
rose, a rival to the sun ; but as it grew, within its breast 
a storm was sheltered, till ripening in its anger, the sound 
of distant thunder came low and heavy to the ear. 
Louder and deeper rolled that awful voice, as nearer 
came its darkening form, and in the grave -like silence of 
its pause, the lightning glanced most fearfully. 

As the storm increased, no bird was seen, save one 
who lingered from its leafy shelter far away. At length 
I saw it rise until it seemed within the mantle of the 
storm ; its drooping wing b.eat heavily in its damp folds — 
yet still it rose with steady flight, until at last, beyond 
the farthest verge of the dark mist, it folded up its wear}'' 
pinions ; and on the brow of that high mount, while sun- 
beams smiled on its dripping plumage, it forgot its dark 



FRAGMENTS. 



307 



path through the shower, nor feared the thunder rumbhng 
far below its safe retreat. And then I thought, that so 
to us will seem the disappointments and the trials of this 
short hfe when welcomed to that " continuing city." 



THE BIBLE. 

As the dove seeks shelter when the storm gathers, to 
await the beaming forth of the sun again, and rests with 
folded wing upon the promise of liis coming when the 
cloud is past, so to us is given this sacred retreat, un,ob- 
tmsive in form, unaided by ceremony, yet to the eye of 
humble confidence wearing the manifest smile of His 
mercy, the signet of glorious divinity, unchanging where 
all is change; bringing hght when darkness is on our 
minds, and alienation in our hearts. 

O, then, let us forget not this treasure, but if business 
perplexes or cares oppress, let the silent breathing of 
its consolations bring rest. If incertitude and decay, 
which are the elements of all we love on earth, shall add 
thorns to our pathway, or the blasts of a cold world break 
harshly about us, then let its words come to our ears, 
and it will say, His hand who rules the storm will sup- 
port the frailest barque upon life's billows cast, and 
gently guide it to the port where comes no night, no 
storm, no sin, no death, where the smile of those departed 
shall welcome us, and the voices of the dearest be the 
first to greet us with the melodies of heaven. 



308 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



PRAYER, 

How sweet a gift is prayer I the gate to praise, the 
narrow way to heaven. 

When the storms of the day are hushed away in 
peace, and the glories of the setting sun beam upon na- 
ture's cahned aspect, the heart feels its beauty and owns 
its power, but no words can rekindle in description that 
heavenly loveliness ; no thought can fix a ray of that 
departing glory. 

So like the sunset glory, is the hour of prayer. It 
gilds the roughness of life's rugged course, and melts 
within and softens upon the clouds of care, until they no 
longer betoken a gathering or returning storm, but render 
the scene even more lovely for their presence. 

Would St thou know this joy ? No holy one from the 
land nearest the throne can describe it. 

Wouldst thou listen to the voice which greets the sin- 
ner's return ? The softest note of angel's harp to harmony 
attuned, can give no sound so sweet, so welcome to the 
ear. 

Wouldst thou know the peace whispered to that wan- 
derer's bosom? 'Tis like the rapture and repose when 
angel songs are hushed in adoration, and silence is in 
heaven. O these cannot be told, but go thou to His 
feet, and there His voice shall welcome thee, joy shall 
brighten in thy bosom, peace shall reign within thy 
breast, and what no messenger may tell, shall to thy own 
soul be revealed. 



FRAGMENTS. 



309 



REDEEM THE TBIE. 

Let not a moment run to waste, for within each is a 
seed of eternity to grow up and bear fruit- — shall it not 
be brought in with the harvest of glory ? What a har- 
vest of glory had now been reaped, if every moment of 
the ages past had added each its ray of hght. Peace as 
a river, and righteousness as the waves of the sea, would, 
centuries ago, have surrounded the earth, and the blessed 
light of wisdom, which now shines but with mingled 
splendor, upon scarce a third of its dark surface, would 
have been as the perfect day gilding all its waters. 
A knowledge, brighter than shone in the studies of 
Newton or La Place, would have penetrated to the 
humblest abodes of poverty; and the tribes of earth, 
lighted by millennial glory, might, ere this, have finished 
their errand of probation, and been now resting in the 
bosom of God. 

A few months — then let us learn their importance. 
The more faithfully we improve them, the more fully 
shall we be prepared to advance for ever in the study of 
the deep things of God. Here are spread before us the 
rudiments of those lessons which it will be our bliss to 
learn above. In vain should we strive here to look 
beyond "the things which are revealed;" but when we 
have studied these until we pant for more, then shall we 
rise, and be led by angels to the pure fountain of all 
knowledge. With adoration on our lips, we shall no 
longer with trembling hand scarce venture to turn the 
pages of His wisdom, but encouraged by His smile, we 
may, with the angels, look into those things which we 



310 



SELECT WRITINGS. 



know not now, but shall know hereafter. The touch of 
death, separating the spiritual from the material, inter- 
rupts not the chain of thought and intellect, which, com- 
mencing in the earliest dawn of reason, we may lengthen 
on to bind us to the throne of God. Then let us haste in 
the path of knowledge. Those of our friends who have 
just entered into rest, are bending before the throne 
with delight and admiration at the rich manifestations 
imparted unto them. Shall we be idle ? Already, while 
it seems yet morning, the evening twiUght of death may 
be gathering around us, and we know it not. Shall we 
then pause, and sleep away the time ? We have nothing 
left but moments — we have no promise of years, no 
assurance of many coming days. Nothing is left but to 
fill up each remaining moment with faithfulness. 



THE FUTURE. 

The future ! What lies before us in that misty point ? 
The morning light of youth dawns upon its shrouded out- 
line ; the meridian sun of riper years reveals no more 
clearly that still receding shore ; and the experience of 
old age, failing to penetrate the mystery, retires exhausted 
by the pursuit, without daring to touch the hem of that 
veil which wraps the vision of futurity. W e come and 
take the little moments from that exhaustless store, laden 
with sweet or bitter gifts ; and hoping still the good, we 
ask for more, not knowing whether life or death may 
rest within. A week, a day, an hour, how it may change 
the web of circumstances, and with it all our hopes, 
opinions, wishes, fears — and life itself, perhaps, for death. 



FRAGMENTS. 



311 



OUR REWARD, 



What shall be our reward, therefore ? It shall be in 
heaven I How full of glory is the thought — in heaven ? 
where all is rest and cloudless bhss. O could we have 
a gUmpse of its unfading beauty, could we, from the 
suburbs of that continuing city, gaze one rapturous mo- 
ment on its glorious palaces — the home of cherubim, 
and seraphim, and accepted saints — where God reveals 
His visible glory ; could we then catch upon our ears 
some floating notes of the "new song," how gladly 
would we fill up the remnant of our days in that service 
which would prepare us to come, at last, to its blest 
fruition ; with what tireless feet should we hasten to do 
all His will, that we might enter, at last, those sparkling 
gates, to praise Him there for ever. This shall be our 
reward. How rich ! how full I when all that infinity 
can receive, all that omnipotence can give, is in the 
word, Reward I 



I 



I 




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